


Vignettes

by goddessofcruelty



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, BDSM, Blood, Bloodplay, Blow Jobs, Blowjobs, Bondage, Bottom Chris Argent, Bottom!Peter, Breathplay, Comeplay, D/s, Dark Chris Argent, Dirty Talk, Hand Jobs, Jealousy, Knifeplay, M/M, Name-Calling, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Oviposition, Peter is a brat, Possessive Behavior, Praise Kink, Priest Chris Argent, Public Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Sex, Secret Relationship, Self-Loathing, Sex Toys, WWII-AU, Whipping, Young Chris Argent, collar and leash, warnings tagged in the chapter notes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-18
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-01-19 19:43:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 45
Words: 29,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1481674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddessofcruelty/pseuds/goddessofcruelty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of Petopher drabbles previously posted on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chessboard

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Chessboard
> 
> No warnings.

It was only a matter of time.

For two years, they’d managed to avoid each other, only to end up in the same clearing on patrol.

Chris nods once. “Hale.” He turns to walk away, but it’s not that easy with Peter. Never has been.

"You’re wearing regret like a cologne these days, Argent."

Chris should walk away. He’s planning on it. But Peter’s always been able to get under his skin. Maybe because he’s always been there.

"We all have things we regret, Peter. "

The wolf’s eyebrows arch, and Chris realizes his mistake. He’s tired and getting too old for this crap. He tells himself it’s just a slip of the tongue.

He’s been careful to keep that distance, he never uses the werewolf’s first name. Disgusted with himself, he turns away, pretending he doesn’t hear Peter say his name.

Then there’s pain blooming along his side and his last thought before falling into darkness is to wonder if he’ll ever learn to keep his guard up.

-

The first thing Chris sees when he wakes up is the chess set. He looks around and sees other little touches that tell him that he’s at Peter’s apartment. He wonders if anyone else has ever been here. Peter is even more protective of his den than most.

That he’s here says something. Chris looks down at his shirtless, bandaged torso and wonders if Peter is the one who patched him up. Chris has a flash of memory from decades ago, Peter shredding his shirt off.

A warmth flares in his gut and he needs to cut that train of thought right now. To distract himself, Chris gingerly sits up, and studies the chess board. He reaches out to lift the rook that’s set aside, out of the game. He runs a thumb over the polished, carved wood, recalling a summer spent making these pieces for Peter’s 18th birthday.

What does it say that Peter still has it, still uses it? Does he think of Chris when he touches the pieces?

There’s a noise and Chris looks up to see Peter watching him. But he can’t think about anything suddenly, because Peter’s only wearing a low slung pair of pajama pants.

Chris looks away and says the first thing that comes to mind.

"You kept it."

Peter is quiet. Chris lifts his eyes again and Peter gives him a brief, sad smile.

"It was the only thing that anyone ever made just for me."

Chris nods and runs his thumb again over the piece that he’s still holding.

"I see you still play."

Peter nods and then stalks towards Chris, and he can’t look away, watches every movement of muscle. Peter will always be the sexiest man he’s ever seen.

He knows how he looks too. That arrogance had always been part of the charm. Peter settles into the chair across the chess board from the wounded hunter. And tilts his head with a gleam in his eye.

"Play with me, Chris."


	2. Collared

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Peter in a collar by [Claire](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire)
> 
> Warnings: bdsm, blowjobs, bondage, collar and leash, D/s, rough sex, Peter is a brat, bottom!Peter

“I have had _enough_ of your shit today, Hale.”

Peter arches a brow. “I couldn’t care less what you’ve had enough of, _Argent_.”

The werewolf leans against the wall with his arms crossed, waiting to see what Chris will do.

He doesn’t have to wait long.

With an almost supernatural quickness of his own, Chris has a hand wrapped around Peter’s throat, pushing him hard into the wall behind him.

“Another _word_ out of you and you’re going to regret it.”

Peter considers this for a moment. On the one hand, he can’t very well leave a challenge like that standing. On the other, well, he might regret it.

He looks into Chris’ eyes, at the faint glimmer of amusement the older man displays at Peter’s inner struggle. In the end, Peter does what they both knew he would. He mouths off.

“I’m not the type for regrets, old man.”

Before he even finishes, there’s a _snick_ , and something closes around his neck. Peter moves his hand towards his neck, but Chris grabs his wrists and twists them behind him.

Peter hears the double click of cuffs.

“Well, well, Argent. I had no idea you were so into bondage. I mean, I should have, given that you practically _live_ in that leather coat-”

Peter is cut off by Chris’ lips on his. The hunter has curled a finger into the leather band around his neck and jerked him close.

The kiss is hard and fierce, and it leaves Peter dazed and licking his swollen lips briefly when Chris pulls away.

Chris hooks something up at his neck, and then tugs, and Peter finally realizes.

“You put a _collar_ on me? And a leash? Maybe it’s not clear to you, what with your advanced age and all, but wolves and dogs are not the same thing-”

This time, it’s the back of Chris’ hand, not hard enough to hurt a werewolf, but enough to get Peter’s attention.

Peter lifts his chin defiantly.

Chris pulls a knife.

Peter lofts both brows and tries to take a step back but he is secured by Chris’ hold on that damned leash.

“Alright, Argent, you’ve had your fun. No need for stabbing.”

Chris reels him a little closer and presses the tip of the knife over Peter’s heart. The werewolf goes very still.

Then with a swift motion, he parts Peter’s shirt from plunging v-neck to navel. The two pieces hang off his arms until Chris slices them too.

“That was _Armani_.” Peter complains.

“That’s a damn shame.” Chris looks down. “I suppose those jeans were expensive too.”

Peter manages to look affronted.

“Naturally, as if I would-” He halts a third time as the knife hacks through the denim. “ _Really_?”

“Will _nothing_ shut you up?” Chris looks him up and down.

Peter shivers under his gaze, completely bare to it. “If you _must_ know-”

The leash tugs him forward again, right into Chris’ waiting lips, and as he parts them for the older man’s tongue, Peter feels a hand wrapping around his waist and pulling him close.

He feels the fabric of Chris’ shirt rubbing across his nipples, the harsh scrape of denim against his stirring cock.

Chris fucks Peter’s mouth with his tongue, as his hand slides lower to cup the werewolf’s ass and crush him even tighter against the still fully-clothed hunter. His left hand still has the leash wrapped around it, holding Peter in place.

Peter moans into Chris’ mouth as he feels the hunter’s hand slide between his cheeks to swirl a finger around his tight pucker.

Chris teases Peter like this for a few moments, until the younger man’s dick is rock hard against him and then he pulls back.

“Knees, Hale.”

Peter looks like he’s about to say something, but Chris yanks downward on the leash, and the werewolf acquiesces, gracefully sinking to his knees, bound limbs notwithstanding.

Chris presses a thumb into Peter’s mouth, watching with darkening eyes as the younger man suckles at it, before moving his hands to his zipper and sliding it downward, taking a deep breath as he frees his aching cock.

Peter licks his lips and Chris doesn’t hesitate to press his length into that hot waiting mouth. He keeps the leash tight in his fist, the other hand reaching to grab a fistful of Peter’s hair, holding him in place, as Chris fucks the werewolf’s mouth brutally.

When he feels that blush of heat begin in his gut, Chris takes few more hard thrusts and then shoves his length all the way into Peter’s throat, holding it there as he comes.

When he’s finished, Chris slides his cock out, smirking darkly down at Peter as the wolf licks his lips.

Peter’s glazed eyes narrow slightly, but he follows Chris’ unspoken demand as the leash is tugged upwards, and then towards the bedroom.

When they get there, Chris makes Peter kneel at the foot of the bed, and the hunter cuffs his ankles to separate bedposts. He wraps the leash around Peter’s still hard dick, and then shoves a ball gag in his face.

“At least you _finally_ shut the fuck up.”

Chris takes his time changing into a pair of silk pajama pants so that the wolf can watch him. He climbs into their bed and stretches out, relaxed and sated, and wonders how long it will take Peter to free himself.


	3. Secret Relationship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: The electricity goes out.  
> Prompt: Secret Relationship
> 
> No Warnings

It’s Peter who gives them away. But it’s all Stiles’ fault.

The pack is all together in the Hale’s house, discussing how to take down the harpies who have made themselves a nest in the Preserve.

Well, Stiles and Peter are arguing, Lydia is painting her nails, and Chris is cleaning his weapons.

Derek and Scott are trying to figure out which fuse goes to the back bathroom, for renovation purposes. (They are literally just standing in front of the open fuse box, looking at it and eating Pringles.)

“What part of _razor_ sharp don’t you understand?” Stiles waves his hands wildly in frustration, and knocks Chris’ crossbow off the table.

Naturally, the thing goes off.

“DOWN,” Chris barks, and everyone except Stiles and Lydia hit the ground. Stiles takes a step backward and trips over a chair. Lydia doesn’t look up.

The crossbow quarrel shoots across the room and buries itself in one of the fuses on the fuse box.

The werewolves and Chris tense and wait.

Nothing happens.

Stiles starts babbling apologies until Chris cuts him off.

“I should have known better,” he growls out, because he’s pissed.

Not at Stiles, but at himself, for leaving a weapon out so carelessly, especially with Stiles around.

He’d been distracted thinking about the way Peter had looked all trussed up last night.

Chris stalks over the the fusebox and reaches out to yank the crossbow bolt out.

That’s when it chooses to blow.

Chris gets just a half second hint as he suddenly smells ozone.

He turns his body, but is flung down by the blast, and covered with a shower of sparks. His clothing, leather and denim, protects him from most of the cascade, but the back of his hand gets singed.

They’re plunged into darkness, and that’s when Chris feels the numbness creeping through his leg. The quarrel must have hit him.

“So…that happened.” Stiles’ voice is loud in the silence.

“Is everyone okay?” Red eyes suddenly shine from Chris’ right, as Scott’s voice echoes, and then there are two pairs of cold blue in response.

“Well, that’s just creepy.”

“Stiles, will you shut the fuck up?” One pair of glowing blues look pointedly his way.

Lydia flicks on the flashlight app on her phone. “You are all idiots.”

Chris flinches back from the bright light as it’s turned on him, which causes a wave of pain to rush up his leg. He hisses in reaction and in seconds Peter is at his side.

“Leg. Crossbow quarrel,” Chris manages, in a breathy whisper, “kanima venom.”

“Shit,” Peter says succinctly, then reaches out to pull Chris to him as the hunter tries to move.

“Sh, I got you babe.” He runs a hand through Chris’ hair, and the older man can feel the slight scrape of the claws. That combined with the fact his eyes were still glowing blue told him just how worried Peter was.

Chris can still move his hand so he does, cupping Peter’s cheek with it. “I’m fine, it’ll fade soon.”

The cellphone flashlight swings over to them, and they freeze like that, realizing how they look.

Peter has the hunter in his lap, arms curled around him protectively, and Chris is in the process of running a thumb along one of those perfect cheekbones.

They turn to look at each other in the light, and Chris can see the second that it hits Peter.

Those plush lips curve slowly in a smirk, and then he leans in, giving it a good show because if anyone is an exhibitionist, it’s Peter Hale.

He kisses Chris, softly at first, then with more abandon. Its a thorough kiss, and when Peter finally pulls away, Chris’ eyes are dark with desire, and his lips are pinked and swollen.

“Gotta say, I did _not_ see that one coming.” Stiles voice breaks the moment.

Lydia has switched to her camera and is taking pictures.

“You’re going to if you don’t leave in the next ten minutes.” Peter’s voice is rough.

Stiles squeaks and knocks a chair over on his way to the door. Derek sighs, loud in the darkness, and follows him. “I’ll call an electrician.”

Chris doesn’t look away from Peter. “Don’t make an appointment for today.”

Scott makes a disgusted noise, pausing at the doorway. “Lydia?”

She’s still taking pictures. “I’m good.”

Scott rolls his eyes and drags her out with him.

Chris arches a brow up at Peter. “Looks like I’m at your mercy.”

Peter smirks slowly. “You’re in deep trouble.”


	4. Married

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Peter/Chris: waking up married (by [Claire](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Claire/pseuds/Claire))  
> Warnings: None

Peter wakes up slowly, feeling sated and settled and _safe,_ anchored in a way he hasn't been for _years._

Which is how he knows that something's wrong.

Peter sits up in panic, absently noticing his complete lack of clothing.

“Fuck”, he mutters, and shoves off the bed, running a hand through his hair.

Something tugs at his finger and the werewolf pulls his hand down to look at it.

The twinkle of the silver band around his ring finger is almost mocking.

He hears a tiny groan from the bed and turns around slowly in dread.

A hand flops out from beneath the mound of covers, and... _yes that's a matching ring._

“No.” Peter shakes his head in denial.

He can't remember _anything_. He doesn't know the date or where he is.

Looking around, he finds a pair of boxers and tugs them on. No use scaring the poor girl before he can explain.

He sighs and goes over to the bed to face the music, already preparing his speech.

Peter tugs back the covers gently, and then his eyes flare wide as he sees the face of the person he's apparently married.

-

“Chris! _Christopher_!”

The hissed urgency in the voice jerks him into full wakefulness, and given his instincts, Chris had a gun in his hands and in the other person's face before he's even opened his eyes.

And then he sees who is at the other end of the gun.

“ _Hale_?!”

“Hale-Argent, actually.” Peter waves a piece of paper, before his eyes travel slowly over Chris.

And that's when the hunter realizes that he hasn't got a _stitch_ of clothing on.

“What did you do to me?” He hisses, keeping his weapon right where it is.

“I married you.” Peter's voice is amused, but Chris can detect a hint of panic beneath it.

That's what decides him, and he lowers the gun and then extends his hand for the paper.

It's indeed a marriage license.

“Peter, this date...”

The werewolf nods. “I'm missing a week.”

Chris nods and eyes the ring on his finger. “First, we call Derek, then we find someone to get this annulled.”

Peter shakes his head and laughs, somewhat hysterically. “There are no grounds for annulment.”

Chris opens his mouth, eyes drawn to the bed. He clears his throat. “Um..”

“Yes, Christopher, I can smell it.” He shifts uncomfortably. “And feel it.”

They're silent for a long moment, both minds lost in thought, then Chris shrugs his shoulders.

“Well, what's done is done. It'll have to be divorce then. We can figure that out later.”

He uses the barrel of the gun to point at Peter. “You, call your nephew. I'm taking a shower.”

Peter arches a brow. “Really, that's all you've got to say?”

Chris stops, back to Peter, and the wolf allows himself a moment to admire that backside.

“One more thing. It should be Argent-Hale.”

Chris disappears into the bathroom, and Peter stares blankly at the closed door for a long time.

Then the corner of his mouth twitches up, and he emits a soft chuckle as he reaches for the phone.

-

Derek fills them in on the spell that had taken hold of the Pack. It seems they weren't the only ones affected.

They rush home to help.

They never get around to that divorce.


	5. Insults and Praise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Petopher + insults and/or praise (by [Halefire](http://archiveofourown.org/users/halefire))
> 
> Warnings: PWP, Blowjobs, Praise!Kink

“You’re a fucking _idiot_.”

Chris is fuming, up in Peter’s face, index finger hovering over the werewolf’s nose.

“Says the hunter who throws himself _into_ the line of fire. What the hell were you _thinking_?”

Peter is just as angry.

“At least I _was_ thinking, not reacting like some sort of stupid feral omega.” Chris shoves him up against the wall.

“I was _protecting_ you, dumbass.”

Chris’ voice is lower now, almost growling. “I don’t _need_ your protection, you overgrown puppy.”

He’s still holding Peter against the wall, body flush against the werewolf’s, and so he can’t help but notice when Peter shivers faintly in his grasp.

The wolf responds just a heartbeat too late for it to be completely natural, and Peter’s voice has lost some of its venom.

“Obviously, you do, because you almost got yourself killed.”

Chris shifts his hips slightly and yes, he can feel Peter’s reaction to being manhandled.

“I’m not going anywhere, Peter.”

Peter’s hands have fisted themselves in Chris’ shirt of their own accord. “I can’t lose you.”

Chris rests his forehead against Peter’s.

“I know. You just… You’re the most goddamned brilliant man I’ve ever met, except where it comes to me.”

Peter lifts his chin slightly, a mocking lilt entering his voice. “Why Christopher Argent, I do believe that was almost a compliment.”

Chris snorts. “What would I do without your smart mouth?”

Peter smirks. “The question is, what are you going to do _with_ it?”

“What are _you_ going to do with it?”

It takes Peter less than a second to be unbuckling Chris’ belt, flinging it to the side, before sliding the zip, and tugging the too-tight jeans down around Chris’ thighs.

Chris starts to say something but Peter is already swallowing him down, and all he can do is groan as he feel the blunt head of his dick bump against the back of Peter’s throat.

Peter’s hands are digging into his ass cheeks, and Chris can feel the sharp tips of those claws just barely pricking into the skin.

Chris lets Peter set his own pace and he does so with ardor, using his tongue and mouth eagerly until Chris is panting for breath on the edge of orgasm, and orders a stop, murmuring soft words of praise once he finally catches his breath.

“Fuck, Peter. So good for me.”

Chris slides back and looks down at Peter, sliding a thumb over the spit-slicked lips, reddened from use, eyes dazed, dark with desire, and he smiles.

“You look fucking gorgeous like this, pup.”

Peter shivers again, this time more pronounced.

“You like that, Peter?” Chris tucks his thumb in the werewolf’s mouth and Peter sucks on it automatically, eyes fixed up on Chris.

“Yes, I think you do. Such a good boy,” he croons softly, then removes his thumb and points.

“Over the back of the couch.”

Peter obeys. He is rewarded with an approving pat on his rear.

Chris runs the spit slick thumb down the dark cleft of his ass, teasing around Peter’s hole, then inside and twisting.

He gives Peter two fingers to suck on next. “Get ‘em nice and wet for me, Peter.”

Those fingers, once wetted, press in, opening Peter up, and then Chris finally slides home, bottoming out with one thrust.

“Mm, Peter, so good for me. God, look at you taking me all in.”

Peter’s claws are tearing the fabric where he’s gripping the edge of the couch.

Chris leans over and reaches to tangle his fingers in the werewolf’s hair, pulling his head up so that the wolf’s back is bowed in, and tilting his ass further up in the air.

“Perfect, pup, just like that.”

He fucks into Peter hard then, until he sees the younger man’s hand reaching for himself, then Chris halts long enough to return that hand to where it was holding onto the couch.

“Oh no, Peter. You’re going to come without being touched. You’re going to be a good boy, and do that for me aren’t you?”

Peter barely manages to gasp out his acquiescence before Chris is snapping his hips forward once more.

He keeps up a steady stream of praise for Peter, and then Chris growls out the command right before he bites down harshly on the werewolf’s shoulder.

Peter responds just as the older man had expected, shuddering beneath Chris and spilling himself onto the back of the couch, as he feels himself being filled from behind.

Slowly Chris disengages, slumping to the floor, and pulling Peter into his lap, wrapping his arms tightly around and peppering him with soft kisses.

“You did so well for me. You were perfect.”


	6. In Public

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Petopher, public play  
> Warnings: Public Sex, Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs

“Christopher!” Peter hisses urgently. “Is now really the best time-”

His voice cuts off as teeth dig into his neck, and a dark voice whispers into his ear. “Yes.”

Peter shivers faintly and digs his claws into the plastic arms of the seat. He hasn't been able to deny Chris in a very long time.

So he doesn't protest again as Chris slowly pulls down his zip, just closes his eyes so that they won't glare in the theater's semi-darkness.

Peter stifles a gasp as Chris' big hand wraps around his dick, tugging softly. It doesn't take any more than that to get him hard.

Chris strokes him slowly over the course of the movie, the voice at Peter's ear barely a whisper. No one but a werewolf could have heard it.

“You belong to me, Peter. You're mine, this cock is mine, and I do what I want with it anywhere I like. And you're going to sit there and take it, going to be a good boy for me, aren't you?”

He continues in that vein, stroking Peter off in the mostly full move theater, until a very soft and quiet part of the movie. Chris increases his rhythm, faster and harder.

“You're going to come for me now, Peter, all over my hand, in the middle of all these people.”

It takes a herculean effort to not make any noise, but he manages, trembling wildly as he coats Chris' had with hot, sticky wetness.

Peter's barely caught his breath before that hand is lifted to his lips.

“You made a mess, Peter,” Chris murmurs, “Now you need to clean it up.”

-

They barely make it out to the parking lot before Peter is crowding in Chris' space, and the hunter pulls the younger man to him, back leaning against his SUV.

“That was entirely unnecessary,” Peter complains as he rests his palm over Chris' crotch, grinding down.

Chris smirks at him. “No, it wasn't.” He arches up slightly into Peter's touch. “And if you're going to keep doing that, you're going to have to take care of the problem that you're causing.”

Peter gets a gleam in his eye and nips at Chris' lower lip. He doesn't stop fondling the hunter.

“Oh? Are you going to make me?”

Chris tangles his hand in Peter's hair and tugs his head back. “I _will_ fuck your mouth in the middle of this parking lot.”

Peter's eyes darken and his hand only increases its pressure.

That settles it for Chris and he growls out, “Knees.”

Peter obeys, reaching forward and freeing Chris' cock from his jeans, one eyebrow arching at the lack of anything beneath.  
But before he can make a comment, the head of Chris' dick is pressing against his lips and he parts them willingly.

It's hard and sloppy, and Chris doesn't last very long. Peter is left gasping and licking come from his bruised lips as the hunter tucks himself back in.

-

They're halfway home when Chris has an idea. At a certain street, he makes a left instead of a right.

Peter arches a brow but says nothing as they pull into the school parking lot.

Curiously, he follows Chris, eyes darting glances at the duffel that Chris has pulled out and flung over his shoulder.

Chris climbs up into the lacrosse stands, settling himself in the middle and then curling a finger to beckon Peter over to him.

“Christopher...” he says softly as the older man strips his clothes off. Peter shivers faintly, not in cold but at being so exposed.

Chris pulls Peter to him, having the werewolf straddle his lap. he rubs his thumbs over Peter nipples and sucks a mark into his neck.

“I want you to close your eyes, Peter. Imagine these stands are full of people, here to look at you on display, here to watch you get fucked.”

Peter's breath hitches and he rolls his hips forward without intending to.

Chris reaches into the bag and produces a small bottle, squeezing some of the contents on to a finger. He slides his arm around Peter, middle finger parting the cheeks of his ass, and then gliding against his tight hole.

Peter ruts up against him, hands on Chris' shoulders, as the older man slowly inserts his slippery finger inside.

After a moment, he adds a second slicked finger, pulling them apart, stretching Peter. Chris fingers the younger man until Peter is trembling with need, then he slides them out, wiping them on a cloth, and then reaches to free himself from pants that are suddenly too tight.

Chris turns Peter, leaning back and then pulling the werewolf onto his cock, one agonizingly slow inch at a time, until he bottoms out.

“Ride me, Peter, give your audience a show.”

Peter does, and the noises he makes are just _filthy_ , and Chris closes his eyes and imagines it too, all the grasping hands and leering eyes. Before too long, he's gripping Peter with bruising force, thrusting harshly up into him.

“Touch yourself, Peter.”

He does so, bringing himself to completion within a few minutes.

The way Peter tightens around Chris is all he needs to be set off, and he holds Peter tightly onto him as he fills the younger man with his come.

Chris produces wipes after a minute, and they clean themselves off and put their clothing back to rights.  
Peter curls up under Chris arm, nuzzling at his mate's neck.

“Where to next?”


	7. WWII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Petopher: historical AU? by [Halefire](http://archiveofourown.org/users/halefire)
> 
> Warnings: Angst, WWII-AU

Christophe is walking down the narrow Paris street when a harsh whistle emenates form the nearby alley. He looks around and then cautiously peers into the darkness. 

In three steps he is engulfed in the gloom, and then suddenly he finds himself lifted, back pressed against the cold brick wall, as a pair of famliar lips find his.

“Peter!” His voice is shocked after he catches his breath. “Anyone could see us.”

“In the middle of a dark alley after curfew? I think not.” His eyes flash golden. “Also, I would hear them.”

Christophe can't help but chuckle softly. “Always a risk taker ,  _mon grande loup_ .”

“That's not the half of it, beloved.” Peter lifted him more so that Christophe can wrap his legs around the German officer's waist. “I've found a way to smuggle you out.”

“That's impossible. No one leaves Paris.”

Peter steals several kisses before he responds. “Trust me?”

“Always.” They spend a few more moment exchanging secret kisses, then Christophe is settled down and Peter steals away into the night.

Christophe smiles and thinks about the first time they met.

-

He's leaning against the wall, lazily smoking a cigarette when Peter comes through the door. Christophe pegs him for a first-timer right away. Those eyes are too wide, the halting movements uncertain, brow furrowed as the confusion of the place sets in.

Christophe decides after about five seconds that he wants the man. It's not just that he's pretty or the way that uniform curves so nicely over his backside. He doesn't even know if he can put it into words. He just  _wants_ .

And so Christophe pushes off from the back wall, saunters across the room, and leans back against the bar right next to where the man has finally taken a seat. 

“ _Bonjour_ ,” he says, voice pitched low to be seductive, as he rests his elbows on the polished mahogany.

The man tilts his head as he turns it, eyes widening as he looks at Christophe. He leans back and rakes his gaze over the lounging body, and then back up, and then leans closer and...sniffs? him.

“How much?” 

Christophe arches a brow. “I'll pay you 100  _francs_ .”

Peter's eyes widen in shock and then he barks out a laugh. “You're not...?”

“ _Non, monsieur_.” 

The German officer grinned at him. “In that case, let me buy you a drink.”

-

Peter comes for him in the middle of the night. His uniform is askew and there's blood spattered all over it.

“Christophe, we need to go now.”

As soon as he's inside, Peter tears the uniform off and starts pulling on civilian clothing. 

“The Americans are coming.”

Christophe halts for a second. “They're liberating Paris?”

Peter freezes, and meets Christophe's gaze. He's only just remembered that they're on opposite sides of this war. It had all been so distant before.

“Christophe...” 

“Peter...”

“You're staying.”

“ _Oui_.”

After that there is little left to say. There's a last lingering kiss, then Peter leaves him to the sound of distant gunfire.


	8. Stuck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Peter getting stuck somewhere, either magically stuck or locking in a cage or something like that and Chris finds him and teases him mercilessly about it! 
> 
> Warnings: Bad Jokes

“He’s stuck.”

Chris narrows his eyes at Stiles.

“Stiles…. _Why_ is Peter stuck to the floor of my car?”

“Because Stiles is the worst druid that’s ever existed.”

Chris darts a glance at Peter, who is laying on his left side inside the back of Chris’ SUV. He looks like he’s been superglued from ankle to hip, and then from elbow to shoulder.

All the strength of a werewolf in his prime hasn’t been able to free him, and Chris can see that he’s been trying. Both the carpet and Peter’s skin have been clawed up.

“Hey, the spell worked like it should! You’re the idiot that got in the way.”

Chris purses his lips, trying not to laugh.

He turns and walks away, leaning back against the SUV a moment.

Stiles follows him, curious.

The blue eyes are lit up with mischief as he chuckles to himself.

“Okay, share the joke, man.”

Chris leans in to whisper, but knows Peter will hear him anyway.

“Looks like he’s in a bit of a sticky situation.”

Stiles snickers and then covers his mouth, because Peter swears loudly at them, but he can’t help the occasional giggle that floats free.

And maybe it’s so funny because they’re high on their victory.

Scott and Derek have successfully burned the nest, and with Stiles’ spells and Chris’ ammo backing Peter up, they’d take care of the ones that weren’t at home.

One of the rare fights where no one got hurt. _Well, except Peter._

“How long is this going to last, kid?”

Stiles shrugs. “At least 24 hours.”

Chris shakes his head again, forcing the grin from his face.

“Alright, I’ll take care of Peter. You head back home.”

His lip twitches a moment. “I think he’s sticking around.”

Stiles snickers. “Yeah, he’s glued to his seat.”

He giggles all the way to his jeep.

Chris watches Stiles leave and then comes around the back of the vehicle.

“You should really know better than to get in the way of Stiles casting magic.”

Peter just grumbles at him.

“So much for those much vaunted reflexes.”

“Christopher, shut the fuck up.”

“Make me. Oh right, you can’t.”

Chris stretches out alongside Peter and grins.

“Looks like you’re going to be here for a while.”

“Shouldn’t you be calling Deaton?”

“Nope.” Chris reaches out and it’s not until he hears the zip that Peter realizes what Chris is doing.

“Christopher…”

“Yes, Peter?”

But Peter can’t answer, because Chris’ hand slides right inside his jeans, and wraps around his dick, and he _can’t move_.

“Son of a bitch,” he manages after a moment. “You’re such an asshole.”

Chris smirks at him, and continues the teasing strokes.

“That’s why you love me.”

 


	9. Caught

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Chris/Peter, getting caught in a compromising position
> 
> Warnings: None.

“I think I'm going to be sick.”

“Ugh, I can smell it everywhere.”

Chris is pressing the back of his hand against his nose to try and keep the scent at bay.

It's not working.

Peter looks even worse off, very green around the gills.

“What the hell was that thing?”

“Not a damned clue, Hale. Here, you take the upstairs shower, I'll take the down. Toss your clothes into this plastic bag and I'll burn them later.”

Chris leaves him to it and darts downstairs, breathing much easier once he's washed the stink of whatever it was from his body.

He throws on a pair of pajama pants and heads upstairs, grabbing Peter's bag of clothing as he hears the shower still running.

The hunter keeps a burn barrel in the back for just such a purpose.

He lights the offending garments on fire, and watches them burn to ash.

Once the fire is out, Chris returns inside, to where Peter is apparently redecorating his room with clothes, clad only in a towel slung low around his hips.

“You have absolutely terrible fashion sense, Argent.”

Chris leans against the doorway.

“Says the man who practically has to pour himself into his clothing. Seriously, what is with the v-necks?”

Peter growls at him and then sorts through the clothes he's laid out on the bed roughly, making a mess of the whole thing.

“You're cleaning this up.”

“I don't clean.”

Chris pushes off the wall and stalks over to Peter, using his iciest, intimidating glare.

“You made the mess, you clean it up.”

Peter reaches to shove Chris out of the way, but the hunter hooks his leg behind Peter's knee, and it surprises him enough that he falls.

And that's when Scott, Allison, and Isaac all crowd the doorway.

And see Peter in a towel on his knees, Chris' hand on his head, clothing strewn about the floor, and a rumpled bed.

“Oh my god.” Allison's eyes go very wide.

“Uh.” Isaac stares at the men.

Scott tugs them both back, and waves his hand in this weird way that reminds Chris of Stiles.

“We'll, um, we'll come back later.”

Chris furrows a brow at the weirdness of the teenagers, and then turns to look at Peter, who's got bright spots of color in his cheeks.

And then it hits Chris. The messy bed. Their position. The looks from the kids.

“Oh.”

He looks at Peter, who hasn't moved from his knees, and the flush the wolf has going on from the kid's assumption...and something else inside his brain clicks.

Chris smirks down at the younger man.

“ _Oh._ ”


	10. Unhealthy Relationship

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Unhealthy relationship
> 
> Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Bloodplay, Comeplay, Jealousy, Possessiveness, Abuse, Self-Loathing, Bottom!Chris, more triggery things I'm sure, this is not a nice drabble

Chris runs with a pack of werewolves. The humans are always sporting bruises of one sort or the other. So it's not until he walks in with a fresh black eye _days_ since their last fight, that anyone notices anything.

“Bar fight?” Stiles smirks, and Chris just shrugs.

They _had_ both been throwing punches. “Something like that.”

No one else cares. There's no one _to_ care.

His entire family is gone. Except the dad who gave him worse on a daily basis.

Chris settles on the chair and doesn't listen to what's going on.

They'll tell him where he needs to be. Well, Peter will.

Chris tries to remember how this whole thing with Peter started.

(Not the fighting, he clearly recalls _that_ moment. Chris and Peter have always been antagonistic. Sleeping together only made it worse. Peter's mouth plus Chris' temper, and well, the hunter had just let loose on the wolf after a particularly trying day. )

It was sometime after Allison had gone. But before Isaac...had gone.

He distinctly recalls Isaac wrinkling his nose, and making some comment about him stinking like Peter.

And that wasn't the first time.

After a moment of searching for the moment, he gives up. It's buried somewhere in the hazy drunkenness of the post-Allison world.

Chris doesn't care that much anyway. There's not much the hunter cares about anymore.

-

Chris closes the front door as quietly as possible, leans against it, and waits.

“You think I can't hear you? Get the fuck in here.”

He closes his eyes a moment, grits his teeth, and goes.

-

The saddest thing is that the only time Chris truly feels alive, other than hunting, is when he's being manhandled by Peter.

Either fighting or fucking, Peter brings all of his emotions to the fore.

-

Werewolves are possessive. Peter is worse.

Immediately, Chris' back is against the wall and there's snarling werewolf in his face, bitching about how he smells like someone else.

“Fuck off, Peter. I'm tired.”

Chris is guilty, but not of cheating.

He's guilty of playing on Peter's insecurities, and stoking his temper.

He knew what would happen if he went to the bar, and Chris knows what happens when he tells Peter off.

Chris could always pull the gun at his waist and shoot the wolf, or spray him in the face with the wolfsbane mace in his pocket.

He does neither of these things.

Instead, Chris just lets his fists fly. It feels so fucking _good_ to let go like this.

With Victoria, it was always about control. Everything she did, in and out of bed, was a test, testing his restraint and self-control. She never forgot a time he slipped.

With Peter, it's all fire and explosions.

Chris bloodies his knuckles on Peter's pretty face, which heals while the hunter drips blood on the floor.

“You done?” Peter mocks him.

Chris isn't even remotely done. He cracks two of Peter's ribs before the wolf backhands him to the floor.

“You're not very smart, are you Christopher?” He lifts the hunter easily and throws him onto the bed. “You'll never learn. You can't hurt me, and you can't _leave_ me.”

Chris feels the wolf's fist connect with his chin and he sees stars.

He feels another at his chest and then lower at his abdomen, and Chris is still throwing his own punches. At least one connects, because Peter's suddenly pinning his wrists above his head, and then the claws come out.

Chris feels the razor sharp extensions slice along his chest, shredding his shirt and carving furrows into his flesh.

He swears low and Peter laughs as he lowers his head, letting go of Chris' hands and pulling the pieces of fabric away so that he can glide his tongue along the human's bleeding wounds.

Chris twists his hand in Peter's hair and pulls hard. It doesn't even budge the wolf who leisurely laps at his blood, then brings his blood covered mouth to Chris'.

He shakes his head but Peter's not going to let that slide, and he holds Chris still and forces his way into the hunter's mouth, spearing his bloody tongue between the chapped lips.

Chris swallows his own blood before Peter pulls away, and Chris is still tugging at his hair. Peter forces him to let go by twisting his arm, and Chris arches with the pain.

The wolf uses that to yank Chris' pants down and flip him over, and Chris scrambles to get away, but Peter levels two punches to Chris' back and suddenly he can't breathe.

His lapse in struggling is taken advantage of, because by the time he manages a deep, gasping breath, Peter's got his legs spread, one hand on the back of Chris' neck holding him down, the other doing something that Chris can't see.

And then there's two slick fingers pressing into him, and he scrabbles at the bed, tearing at the sheets to get away but Peter's got him firmly pressed into then bed.

“You're not going anywhere, Christopher.”

The darkness in Peter's voice sends a shudder down his spine, and Chris feels himself hardening against the bed.

Peter twists his fingers inside Chris, just so, and the hunter gasps aloud.

“There it is,” the wolf mocks him. “I bet you're hard already Christopher. We both know how much you want this.”

Peter doesn't waste any more words, just shifts, still holding Chris down, and lines himself up.

With one vicious thrust, the wolf slides his cock home inside the human beneath him, chuckling darkly at the wounded noise that Chris makes.

“If you wanted soft and sweet, Christopher, you wouldn't be here with me.”

Chris closes his eyes tightly and fists the torn sheets, because it's only the truth.

Peter fucks him hard and fast, using Chris' body for his own pleasure, claws raking over Chris' back lightly, marking him just the same.

After a few minutes, Peter pulls free, and flips Chris over again, and he's no longer resisting the younger man in any way.

The werewolf lifts Chris' legs, folding him in half as Peter resumes fucking him, but face to face this time, now-clawless hands sliding through the blood coating the human's stomach.

Just before he finishes, Peter pulls free of Chris, instead choosing to come on the wounds, rubbing his essence into Chris' skin.

Chris whimpers as the cuts begin to sting, and he tries to wriggle away, but Peter shakes his head.

“Oh, no, Christopher. You're not done yet.”

Peter's hand wraps around Chris' traitorous dick, which is painfully hard and leaking sloppily, and the wolf starts tugging.

It's too fast and too hard, and the hunter's hands scrabble at Peter to make him stop. The wolf simply pins Chris' hands down and continues with what he was doing.

Christ tries to fight it, but Peter's got his number, and before too long, he's coming against his will.

Peter directs it onto his bloody abdomen, adding it to the mix.

Chris is limp and exhausted, and he doesn't even have the breath to say anything when Peter rubs the swirled fluids around his body and into his skin.

Peter tugs Chris into the position that he wants him and drapes his arm and a leg over the hunter, surrounding the human with his body.

“Mine, Christopher. Forever.”

 

 


	11. Accidental Shift

Peter can't believe this is actually happening.

Months, _months_ , of chasing after Chris Argent, and now here he is getting naked with the older boy. About to lose his virginity. With Chris _fucking_ Argent.

His thoughts are derailed when Chris leans in and reaches for the werewolf's shirt, and oh god, Chris' hand's are all over his chest, skin on skin.

Peter can feel the prick of his claws, and curls his hands into fists a moment. He tries to take a deep breath, but Chris' lips are kissing down his neck, and he bares it automatically, arching towards the older boy.

Chris bites down at the junction where neck meets shoulder at the same time as Chris' hand slides into the waistband of Peter's hands, and it's completely overwhelming.

Peter feels a weird sensation but then Chris' hand is on his dick, and then there's a buzzing in his head, and he fuzzes out a minute.

“Uh, Peter?” Chris' voice seems to come from far away and Peter opens his eyes to see the boy pressed up against the other side of the room. “I'm not having sex with you like that.”

Peter's confused until he goes to move and then he realizes that he's shifted. And not just eyes and claws, no, he's gone full fucking wolf. _And he can't get back._

He turns around, and his whole body shakes in distress and he can hear himself whining but he can't seem to stop, and he doesn't even realize that he's curled up tightly into a ball until Chris is kneeling down next to him.

“Shh, it's okay, Peter.” And Chris' hand is gentle, stroking along Peter's fur, and the wolf closes his eyes and concentrates on that hand. He starts to feel calmer until he hears a noise in the doorway, and his ears flick as Peter looks that way.

And Talia is standing in the doorway, stifling laughter, but she can't hold it in when she meets Peter's gaze.

“Oh my god, I wish I had a camera.”

Chris narrows his eyes at her. “Just go call your mother.”

Peter puts his head under his paws and starts whimpering.

Chris pets him until Peter hears the click of his mother's heels coming down the hallway.

She looks at Chris, still in nothing but his boxers, Peter's shirt hanging from the lamp, and the destroyed shreds of his jeans still clinging to his nether regions.

“Well, I bet that's something you don't see every day, young man.”

He flicks his ice blue eyes up to her. “Chris.” He takes a deep breath. “Chris Argent.”

She freezes just a moment and then nods. “Well isn't this a pickle.”

Without further ado, her eyes flash red and she cranes her neck and roars, and Peter's suddenly a curled up, naked human ball.

With a face bright red from embarrassment.

“I'll let you two talk this out.” She stares pointedly at Chris. Who's handing Peter a sheet to wrap around himself.

“So that could have gone better.” Peter's voice is muffled from where its buried in his hands.

“At least I know you weren't faking.”

Peter can't help but laugh, and Chris bumps his shoulder.

“Just be glad Talia couldn't find the camera.”

Peter groans. “They're going to tease me as long as they live.”

 


	12. House

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Petopher: After buying back his family's land from the county, Peter wants to tear down the remains of the Hale house and build a new house on the site. And he wants Chris there with him.

Peter stares down at the paper in his hand.

He now owns the entire plot of land once held by his family for countless generations, unpaid taxes fulfilled with the blood money from all their life insurance policies.

He wants to build anew, to start from scratch. Peter wants nothing to do with that burned out husk that he almost died in, _did_ die in front of.

He doesn't want to do it alone.

But Chris and he aren't- They don't do this. They don't plan for the future. They don't do feelings and forever. They don't even do tomorrow.

They come together in the dark, when they're bored, or after a fight, adrenaline racing, bodies clashing in need. And then they go their separate ways.

Neither of them have anything real left. There's just ongoing war against the supernatural, and a Pack that they're only nominally a part of.

But Peter is a _wolf_. And alone is not his natural state.

He doesn't imagine for one second that Chris wants anything more with him than release. And certainly the hunter won't want to live happily ever after with him.

So Peter does the next best thing. He pretends.

-

They're all gathered for a briefing on whatever fantastical thing is invading this week, and Peter's only half-listening while he flips through the phone book.

It's calculated, of course, what does he do that isn't?

Eventually, Chris winds down with a glare at Peter. “What the hell are you doing?”

The beta glances up, brow arched. “Looking for a contractor to tear what's left of my house down.”

He sees the flinch, and really he hadn't meant to remind Chris that his family was at fault for that, but before the wolf can say something to ameliorate the effects, Chris rips out a page and scribbles a number in the margin.

“There. Now can you pay attention?”

Chris goes back to lecturing, and Peter holds the paper, fighting back his smugness.

Step one, complete. Now Chris has a vested interest in the house, and Peter has an opening to talk to him about it.

-

Chris helps Peter choose a floor plan, flipping through blueprints one day when they're both left behind after a pack meeting.

The hunter finds it odd that Peter so suddenly cares about his opinion on anything, but he allows for the idea that the werewolf is simply less than knowledgeable about such things, given that his family has lived in the same place for hundreds of years.

Chris has moved and built and rebuilt and torn down countless homes.

He doesn't for a moment let himself consider the possibility that it means anything.

The older man well knows that Peter is far too damaged for such a connection, and even if he weren't scarred for life by losing his family, he would never pick Chris.

-

They visit the build site a few times together, so that Chris can show Peter what he needs to watch out for. Werewolves can hear lies, but picking out faults in the way the electrical wiring is laid? Not so much.

 

The landscaping, well, Peter is just completely hopeless. He wants to just let everything grow wild.

Chris ends up taking that chore on completely. He doesn't mind, it's a nice distraction from everything trying to kill him.

They grab dinner a few times together without the pack while they talk about color schemes and the right kind of stove, and whether there should be bedrooms for each member of the pack, or a sort of large room with beds where everyone can crash together (they end up with the latter).

And Peter ends up taking Chris to pick out furniture, because let's face it, none of the children have anything even close to resembling taste. They're happy with futons and milk crates.

They grab a movie afterward, nothing big, the furniture store just happens to be next to a movie theater, and Peter has been wanting to see this flick. Chris has nothing better to do.

-

Chris is the first one to see the house when it's all done, because he's helping Peter get things together for a housewarming with the pack plus families.

He goes in search of a bathroom while Peter is putting the beer in the big fridge in the garage. He curiously peeks into the rooms as he goes by, recognizing this things that they chose and this piece of furniture, and chuckling over a particular color scheme that they had debated--

Chris stops dead in his tracks. It suddenly hits him that he's put as much decision making into this house as Peter.

_But it doesn't, can't, mean anything, who else would Peter have to talk to?_

Chris tentatively turns the knob on the door to the master suite. It's locked.

_Why is it locked?_

He gets out his lock-pick kit, because Chris suddenly has to _know_ what's behind that door.

The hunter pushes open the door and stands in the doorway a moment. This room...this room is not for Peter. Well, not just for Peter.

There's a king sized bed, and the comforter is Chris' favorite color. On the left side of the bed, the side that Chris always sleeps on, there's an end table with a picture of Allison. He walks over there and pulls open the drawer on the table, but it's completely empty.

He goes to the closet next, opening it, and the right hand area is packed with Peter's things, stuffed to the gills even.

The only thing on the left is a pair of pajama pants exactly like the ones Chris wears, folded neatly on a shelf.

Chris even finds the bathroom half empty, with places for another person's toiletries.

But the most damning thing is the picture on the end table at Peter's side.

It's of himself and the younger man and Chris runs a thumb along Peter's face, smiling for once, not smirking.

He remembers Lydia taking after the fairy incident, and Peter is laughing at Derek, who had looked absolutely ridiculous with pink sparkly fur, to be fair.

In the picture, Chris is looking at Peter and it's... _tender_ , is the only way he can think to describe it.

There's a noise in the doorway, a soft wounded punched out kind of noise, and Chris looks up to see Peter staring at him, unguarded for once.

And then the werewolf shakes his head, and the mask slips on. “I see you've found the master suite, it's not done yet, of course, and things are all mixed up everywhere...”

It takes Chris a second to realize that Peter's trying to explain away what the hunter has found, and Chris wonders how many times he's accepted such expositions as fact without really thinking about them.

-

Peter's heart sinks, drops through his shoes as he sees Chris holding that picture, and he knew he shouldn't have kept it, but after seeing when he'd borrowed Lydia's phone briefly, he had to have it. There were no other pictures of the two of them together in existence.

He starts babbling, explaining, and he doesn't even know what he's saying and Chris is just _staring_ at him, and he gradually trails off into silence under the weight of that gaze.

“...Chris?”

Peter watches the hunter carefully set the picture down and then turn towards him. The werewolf braces himself for flying fists because he knows that it's not okay, that his fixation is stupid, and that keeping the place looking like Chris might move in is probably the most pathetic thing he's ever done. He doesn't know how to make it right, so that Peter can keep those tiny stolen moments that are all he's got holding him together in between fights for his life.

Chris shoves him against the wall and Peter is willing to take whatever the hunter want to dish out, if it will make him stay.

And then instead of a fist, there's a hand cupping his face, and Chris' lips are lowered onto his, and Peter is _confused_ because this isn't a thing that they do.

They don't kiss sweetly and softly, and they certainly don't look at each other like Chris is looking at him right now.

“Why didn't you tell me?”

Peter half-shrugs and looks down, because the intensity in Chris' eyes is too much.

“It didn't seem relevant.”

“It didn't-” Chris huffs a laugh and presses his forehead against Peter's. “For one of the most intelligent people I know, you are an idiot. How could you not know I love you?”

Peter's knees buckle and he's lucky the wall is there to catch him.

“You-you what?”

Chris shakes his head, and then kisses Peter again, just as gently.

“Once _our_ guests have gone home, we are going to sit down and have a long talk. And then you're going to help me move my things in.”

Peter blinks a moment, and then nods slowly.

“You're sure?”

“I've never been more certain of anything in my life.”


	13. Pack Finds Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Petopher: The pack finding out that Peter is Chris' sub.
> 
> Warnings: D/s, Blow Jobs

The front door bursts open, and Scott and Stiles come barreling through, both of them yelling something about dragons. And then stop short, eyes comically wide.

They're pushed forward a few paces by Derek entering after. He takes one look at the proceedings, and grabs the back of both of the boys' shirts and drags them backwards out the door.

“Five minutes, outside,” he yells as he shuts the door behind him.

Chris looks down at Peter, still kneeling in front of him. Those incredible eyes are turned up to watch the older man's face, lips still wrapped around the length in his mouth. Peter is completely nude, hands clasped in a tight fist at the small of his back.

The werewolf hasn't moved since the door slammed open, cheeks high with color, because he hadn't heard the trio arriving at the house, having been so _focused_ on his task.

“You've got three minutes to finish.”

Peter makes it happen in two, and as soon as Chris leans back and tucks himself in, the werewolf is slipping into his clothing, the too-tight jeans that he loves to wear to flaunt his perfect ass, extremely uncomfortable to shove his hardness into.

It doesn't help that Chris takes ten seconds to palm Peter's crotch, reminding him silently that they have unfinished business, and then strides away as if nothing has happened.

Peter rolls his neck and follows, facing the three boys who've just seen his naked ass with an eyebrow lift and a defiant attitude.

Chris just lifts a crossbow in one hand and a high-powered rifle in the other and stares them down.

Scott and Derek grab Stiles at the same time and smack their hands over his mouth, and then grin at each other over his head in solidarity, before Derek explains about the sudden infestation of kimodo dragons taking up the Sheriff's station.

-  
Turns out the reptiles' thick skin protects them from werewolf claws, and they're somehow completely resistant to magic. They actually have to call animal control and the Sheriff plays it off as some sort of high school prank. No one has any idea of where the things come from until a few weeks later, animal control calls to tell them that the entire population of the San Francisco zoo's kimodos had been relocated.

Stiles manages not to say anything, even though everyone can see he's near to bursting with it when he looks at Peter during pack meetings.

One day he shows up on Chris' door. The hunter arches a brow at the fidgeting teenager.

“Teach me how you tamed a werewolf?”


	14. Bad Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Petopher: 'Peter Hale has a bad day.'

Peter watches the blood gush from his side, from the wound that isn't healing, and then slumps against the cold cement wall of the basement he's being held in.

“This is all your fault, Argent.”

“I'm not the one who mouthed off to the lizard people.”

“In none of the lore...” Peter cuts off to cough up some blood. “...does it say that basilisks speak English. Or even speak for that matter.”

He can hear Chris scrabbling around, feeling the floor to try to find anything that he might be able to use to pick the lock on his restraints. They're both manacled to rings firmly secured in the cement wall. On opposite sides of the otherwise empty basement.

Peter used up the last of his strength trying to pull his out from the wall. Now, he leans his head back and closes his eyes.

“And I thought losing my apartment first thing this morning would be the worst thing that happened to me today.” He mutters and then stills as he heard the rasping of the lizards speaking, answered by a higher pitched voice.

“Oh, hey, the witch is here.” His tone is flat. “Time to die. Again.”

-

Peter wakes up in Chris Argent's bed. He knows this bed, because he may or may not have spied on Chris a few times from a convenient rooftop.

(He knows Chris' scent because it's been ingrained in his brain since he was fourteen years old. He never ever admits this to himself though.)

He moves and emits a whimpered gasp at the pull on his side. Peter looks down to see bandages.

“It'll heal at a normal human rate.” Chris' voice is soft.

Peter flicks his gaze towards the doorway, where Chris' form is silhouetted by the hallway light. Chris is wearing only sleep pants, just like the werewolf, and Peter can't help the way his eyes trace the planes of the human's stomach, or his own reaction to it.

He groans and Chris steps forward. “You in pain? Your eyes are glowing.”

Peter closes them and turns his face away until he regains control. “I got evicted at 8 am, my favorite coffee shop was closed for renovations, I missed lunch helping Stiles research, then my favorite sweater got destroyed by lizards, oh and there's the part where I almost died.” Peter sighs. “On top of that, I'm not going to heal any time soon.”

He grits his teeth and forces himself to sit up. “Thanks for the hospitality, I'll send you a fruit basket.” Peter pushes himself to his feet, eyes flashing in the evening's gloom as he fights for control of himself.

“Where are you going?”

Peter makes a noncommittal sound, then takes a deep breath. “That's not your business, is it, _Argent_?”

“Well, since I'm the one that suggested we go in there-”

“Stow it. I'm not going to indulge your hero complex.” Peter manages to get to the doorway of the bedroom. “Get out of my way before I have to move you.”

Chris looks at him, and there's a long silence. “Why won't you let me take care of you?” It's almost a whisper.

“You lost that right a long time ago.” Peter's eyes flash, he can't help it, but Chris moves out of the way.

“Peter-”  
“No, Chris. You left for summer camp and never came back. Not for _years,_ and then when you came back-” Peter cuts off the flow of words and pushes past Chris. It no longer matters.

“That was _twenty_ years ago!” Chris says it to Peter's back. The werewolf doesn't stop. “How long are you going to hold on to your wounded pride?”

Peter doesn't answer but Chris' question follows him out the front door. Peter has no answer for the hunter. Because he fell in love at fourteen, with a man who didn't love him back, and werewolves mate for life.

Peter will never trust Chris again. He _can't_.

He steps into the rainfall, barefoot and shirtless, uncaring that his bandages soak through almost immediately. He gets halfway home before he remembers that he doesn't have one anymore, his alias finally discovered and those assets seized.

Peter Hale lays down on a nearby park bench, closes his eyes, and lets the rain fall down on him.

 


	15. Chris Makes It Better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Resolution to the previous chapter.

Chris sits down on his bed, the bed that Peter had so recently occupied, and puts his face in his hands. _If only he'd let me explain..._

Then he snorts and shakes his head at himself.

Explain what? That he was forced on an international journey of “training” after his father found out about them? How he spent six months in traction at a hospital in France? How _he_ was the reason that Kate torched the Hale house? How they'd told him that the werewolf that he was pining over was dead? How Gerard had broken both his legs – again – after he'd tried to sneak his way back to Beacon Hills for the funeral?

He remembered the moment they'd found out that Peter was the Alpha terrorizing the town. He'd locked himself in the bathroom and thrown up over and over until Victoria had asked if he had the stomach flu.

Oh and Victoria. She was a good woman and Chris _had_ loved her, they were a good partnership. He and Victoria had fit together like a hand in a glove from the moment they meant. (She came from an old hunting family as well, the Campbells, and knew the life.)

He and Peter, on the other hand, were more like fireworks and and open flame. It was volatile and explosive...which Chris had always chalked up to teenaged love. But the second he saw Peter again, it all came back like a punch to the gut.

It had taken all of Chris' training not to react, to keep himself calm, to compartmentalize so he didn't give himself away. Because this Peter was not all there, damaged and broken. And then suddenly Peter was dead again. And then when he came back to life, he was a whole lot saner, back to the sarcastic mouthy kid he'd always been. Chris did his best not to fall in love all over again.

He made _vows_ to Victoria.

Maybe he's trying too hard to hold on to his past. He's lost Victoria now, and Allison, and his father in a way – stuck in that nursing home for the rest of his life. Peter is all he has left.

And he doesn't even have that.

He rises with a sigh, walks to the window and stares out into the rain, imagines Peter hurt and only in Chris' pajama pants, shuffling through the downpour. With a muttered curse, Chris digs out his phone .

“Peter left.”

“Okay well, he must be feeling better then. Listen, Stiles and I were thinking-”

“Scott, he's hurt and wandering out there in the rain.”

“He came back from the dead, dude, he'll be fine.”

“Either you or Derek need to go after him, he's not fine, he's not healing.”

“Uh, Chris, we don't even like him.”

Chris hears Derek's voice in the background.

“Derek says he's _your_ mate, you go after him.”

Chris freezes, his gut sinking. “What.”

“He's your-” Scott cuts off, and then Chris hears Derek's voice.

“You don't know.”

“Tell me.” Chris can't think.

“Yeah, Scott was practicing the memory thing? In Peter's head. Saw that you were his mate.”

Chris takes a deep breath. “I thought his mate died in the fire.” Another breath. “Fuck. How long?”

“Werewolves mate for life, Chris. So, since the first time you were...together. Shouldn't you _know_ that?”

Chris hears Stiles in the background saying something with a questioning tilt at the end of that.

“I don't know why it's not in the bestiary. Because Hunters are cold, heartless bastards?” Derek returns his attention back to Chris. “Yeah, so, you handle Peter. We're busy.”

Derek hangs up but not before Chris hears Stiles' crow of victory, and then a burst of tinny video game music.

“Son of a bitch.” Chris grabs his coat.

-

Peter wakes up in Chris Argent's bed.

“I feel like I'm having deja vu.”

“Shut up, Peter.” The voice is mumbled into his shoulder, where Chris' face is pressed into it. His arm is flung casually across Peter's chest above the wound, one of his legs entwined with Peter's. The werewolf goes to move his arm and finds he's handcuffed to the bed.

“Argent.”

“I said shut up, I'm trying to sleep here.”

“Yeah, that's not going to happen until you explain why I'm cuffed to your bed.”

“It's obviously so I can have my wicked way with you.” Chris voice is flat, sarcastic, but Peter's mind immediately runs with that imagery and fuck, he _can't_ react to that. Not the way that they're positioned. He thinks about ice and snow and bitter cold wind.

“Didn't want you to run away again before we could talk.” Chris' voice is soft almost a whisper.

“Did you _carry_ me here?”

“All the way from the park, where you passed out with a fever. Two days ago.”

There's silence while Peter digests that information. 

“Why?”

Chris ghosts his lips briefly across Peter's shoulder. “You're my mate and I'm going to take care of you.”

 


	16. Getting A Job

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Peter was so upset by the thought of having to get a job. Now I just need a AU where Chris is Peter’s sugar-daddy
> 
> Warnings: None

"Hale?!" The voice is incredulous as the light flicks on, and Peter freezes. _Damn, must be an invisible alarm._

Peter swirls around, puts on a smirk. “Argent. Fancy meeting you here.” He sidles along the wall, casually inching towards the still-open window.

"This is my _house_.” Chris has a gun in either hand, pointed right at his face, and Peter is absolutely certain that both are loaded with wolfsbane bullets.

"So it is. I’ll just be leaving then." Peter steps to the window, but he’s forgotten how quick the hunter is. Right up until his face is mashed into the cement-brick wall. "At least buy me dinner first, Argent."

Chris is silent for five heartbeats, and Peter is absolutely not thinking about that lithe, muscular body pressed up against his. “This is about the money, isn’t it?”

Peter feels a blush of admiration, the hunter is smarter than he’s often given credit for. “Money?” His voice gives nothing away, he’s certain, but Chris chuckles low, and deep, and then steps back.

Peter doesn’t miss that warmth, not in the least. Nope.

"You’re broke, aren’t you, Peter? Got robbed and there’s nothing left."

Peter resumes his equilibrium, turns to face the hunter, all arrogance and pride. “That will be taken care of soon enough.”

"No, I don’t think so, Hale." He takes a step forward, and odd look in those sparkling blue eyes. "Braeden is taking a _long_ time to get it back isn’t she?  And I’m betting that your secret emergency funds are getting pretty low if you felt the need to break into a hunter’s house.”

Chris moves forward again, voice getting softer and huskier and something about it has Peter frozen in place, only a few yards away from freedom.

"But Hale… _Peter_ … You should have come to me.” Peter suppresses a shiver at the way Chris says his name. 

Chris reaches out and runs the back of his hand, along Peter’s cheek. “I would be happy to take care of you, Peter.”

Peter lifts his chin, moves away from Chris’ touch, snarls. “And what will it cost me?”

Chris smirks, looks down at the werewolf. “Nothing you’re not willing to give.”

He moves again, and now he’s flush against Peter, and the wolf can _feel_ how much Chris likes the idea. He finds he’s not particularly opposed to the idea either.

"Alright," Peter says after a moment’s deliberation, lifts his chin challengingly. "You should know I’m very high-maintenance."

Chris chuckles, leans in so that his lips are just a hair’s breadth from the werewolf’s, whispers, “I think I can handle that.”

Peter surges up, crosses that last, tiny distance and crushes his lips to Chris’, sealing their deal.


	17. Kissing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: It’s International Kissing Day. We should celebrate this with Petopher kissing. Lots and lots of Petopher kissing.

"Dammit, Hale!" Chris shoves Peter as another bolt of lightning flies through the air, and the wolf growls as his back slams into a tree.

"Worry about yourself, _Argent_.” He spits the name as if it’s a curse, and returns the favor, elbowing Chris out of the way of the next arc.

Chris coughs for breath as Peter tears the flashbang from the hunter’s hand and flings it in the direction of the electricity wielding woman.

"What the hell is Stiles _doing_?”

They hear a thump, and then a series of increasingly liquid splats.  And no more lightning bolts.

"Got it!" Stiles crows in victory, and the hunter rolls his eyes and gets up off the ground, only to find himself face to face with a still pissed off werewolf. "What the hell do you think you’re doing, Argent?"

Chris arches a brow. “Currently, walking away.”Deed follows word, and he attempts to do so, only to find himself the one whose back is pressed up against the tree.

"You could have gotten yourself _killed_. I’m a wolf, I’ll heal.  You won’t. Don’t ever get between me and something deadly again.” Beta blue eyes flash in the gloom.

Chris narrows his eyes. “Since when do you care?”

Peter blinks, takes a half-step back as he recedes into human. “I-I don’t. You want to get yourself killed, fine. Don’t expect me to save you again.”

Chris reaches out and grabs a handful of Peter’s shirt, tugs the wolf close before he can protest, and crushes their lips together.  Peter freezes for a couple of heartbeats, and then he’s surging forward, pinning Chris between his body and the tree.

Peter licks his way into Chris’ mouth, the hunter parting easily for him, and their tongues twine around each other’s until they are both out of breath. They part only then, and Peter rests his forehead against the older man’s.

"Dammit, Chris. We can’t _do_ this. Not again.”

He smiles softly and leans in, this time kissing Peter soft and sweet before whispering against the werewolf’s lips. “Yes, Peter, we can.”


	18. High School Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: meeting again at a high school reunion au

 

"Who’s that with Katie Argent?" Peter turns to his cousin, who eyes the gentleman in question and shrugs.

"Go find out for me?"

Cassie narrows her eyes. “You have to take the pups tomorrow then.”

Peter narrows his eyes down at her, then glances to the guy, then sighs. “Fine.”

-

Cassie’s back in twenty. “That, cuz, is Katie’s older brother. Remember, he was a senior our freshman year?”

"Christopher? My, didn’t he grow up nice." Peter murmurs into his drink.

"You’re about to do something stupid."

"Cass, you wound me."

She rolls her eyes and then puts her hands on her hips. “I’m ditching you, find another ride home.”

-

Peter manages to (literally) bump into Chris Argent within fifteen minutes.

“My apologies,” he says softly, looking up at Chris, tucking his hands in his pockets to make his v-neck pull taut across his chest.

“Peter Hale,” the older man nods, and the man in question smiles slowly.

“Got it in one.” Peter is not wearing the nametag given to him. “I must not have changed that much, Christopher.”

Which opens up the opportunity for Chris to give Peter the once-over, which he does, with the involuntary flick of a man who’s not out. Peter resists the urge to let his smile become predatory.

“I wouldn’t say that.” Chris swallows hard, but his face doesn’t give anything away. “I think you’re shorter.”

Which startles a laugh out of Peter, and he shakes his head ruefully. “I do recall us seeing more…eye-to-eye.”

Chris inclines his head in agreement and there’s some more small talk, until Peter’s phone buzzes.

He checks it and then shakes his head, pursing his lips.

Chris arches a brow. “Bad news?”

Peter snorts. “Good news for Cassie, bad for me.” He checks the time. “I’d better call the cab company if I’m going to have a ride to the hotel. She’s headed home with someone local.”

“Cassie is…your wife?” Chris asks, politely.

Peter laughs. “My cousin, she was on the track team with Katie?”

“Right, right,” Chris says softly. “I could give you a ride?”

This time Peter lets the smirk spread, takes a step closer, just enough that he’s crossing the personal space threshold, looks up through his lashes. “I’d like that very much, Christopher.”

-

They barely make it through the door to Peter’s suite before Chris tears the designer shirt in half and shoves Peter onto the bed. He gasps as he hits, hands going for his buckle as Chris shucks off his own clothing impatiently, before climbing onto the bed, lifting Peter arms to pin his wrists above his head.

“I have been waiting a very long time for this,” Chris growls in Peter’s ear, and the younger man moans aloud and bucks his hips upwards as Chris’ large hand wraps around Peter’s length. “And I’m going to make it last a long, long time.”


	19. The Doctor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: doctor/companion au

 

“Basically, run.”

Chris blinks at the man in front of him, and then finds himself being tugged by the hand. There’s an explosion behind him, and he follows the pull of the man, and runs.

“What the hell  _are_  those things?” Chris gasps out when they finally come to a halt in front of some sort of strange blue container.

“Bersekers,” the man answers absently as he fiddles with some sort of small device that looks like a spanner. “Basis of old earth legends, though,” he stops to muse a moment, “they’ve got most of their facts wrong. Typical of humanity, really.”

“Old earth? Humanity? Who are you?” Chris pulls his weapon, aims it at the man’s face. “ _What_  are you?”

The man sighs and shakes his head, pushes Chris gun down with a scathing glance at it. “I do hate those horrible things.” Then he tilts his head. “I’m The Doctor.”

Chris blinks. “Doctor? Doctor what?”

The Doctor steps into the box, turns halfway to look at Chris. “Just…The Doctor.”

There’s another explosion behind him and Chris turns to look that way, seeing three of these…berserkers…come around the corner.

“Well? Come on.” Chris looks at The Doctor, then back at the rapidly approaching beasts, then steps across the threshold, stops and looks around in disbelief as the door shuts behind him.

“What on earth-”

“Not at all, actually. Well, the TARDIS has been on earth, but not currently. Well, perhaps currently, depending. But definitely, we are not on earth.”

Chris has gone from staring at the interior to staring at The Doctor.

“Though we could be, have you ever been there? Lovely planet in its day.”

Chris looks back at the door. “It’s bigger-”

“Yes, yes,” The Doctor interrupts impatiently, “on the inside, heard it before. Come, press that level and hold that…twirly thing.”

Chris looks at all the gadgets and devices, puts his hands where The Doctor had indicated. He’s been on a few ships in his time.

“This is meant for many hands. “Are you alone? Where are the others?”

The Doctor lifts blue eyes to him that suddenly seem like entire storms are spiraling in them. “Dead.” He looks away, down to his hands. “Burned in a river of fire.”

Chris closes his eyes, looks down. “I’m sorry. I’m alone, too.”

The Doctor shrugs off his melancholy, beams a brilliant smile. “Not anymore, eh?”

Chris grins a bit. “Yeah.”

“Where d’you want to go? Anywhere in the universe.”

Chris thinks and then looks over to The Doctor. “Someplace that makes you happy.”

The Doctor’s smile is softer this time. “Done!”

He hits some buttons wildly and as the klaxon starts to sound, Chris reaches over and slides his hand in The Doctor’s.


	20. Mr. Argent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: teacher/single parent au
> 
> Warnings: could be read as non-con, breath play, whipping, name calling

  


“Scott…is not doing well.”

Peter leans back in his chair, arches a brow at the teacher, a Mr. Argent.

“He’s always been a solid student, and he’s not having trouble in any classes but yours.”

“Be that as it may, his essay was less than stellar and the last test-”

“You forced him to take even though he was unwell,” Peter interrupts.

“Mr. Hale, are you trying to insinuate-”

“Not at all,” Peter interrupts again, “I’m flat out stating that you are  _abusing_  your authority.”

Argent rises from his seat. “I think this-”

“ _Because_ ,” Peter’s really enjoying cutting the man off, “you have a problem with Scott dating your daughter.”

“Mr. Hale, if you interrupt me again, you’ll regret-”

“No,” Peter smirks, “I won’t.” He rises and takes a step into the older mans space. “I could have your job, Argent.”

The blue eyes go ice cold, and then Peter finds himself slammed facefirst into the desk, arm twisted up behind him. Argent leans over his back to growl into Peter’s ear. “You aren’t going to do anything, Hale.”

He wraps a big hand around the front of Peter’s neck, and it’s really not Peter’s fault that he arches his back, presses his ass up against the teacher. It’s an automatic reaction to being in that position, and he stills himself as soon as he realizes.

It’s too late by then, because Argent chuckles suddenly, dark and dangerous. “Like to be manhandled, do you?”

Peter shivers as he hears the snick of leather sliding through denim loops. “Well, Hale, I think I’ve just figured out how your son gets an A in my class.”

 

The teacher leans back, lets go of Peter’s neck and arm. “Stay there,” Argent orders before briefly leaving the classroom.

Peter could leave now, could walk right out. But he doesn’t, after a brief struggle with himself, he stays put, hands curling around the edge of the desk.

Argent doesn’t seem surprised to see him still in position, simply closes and locks the classroom door, pulls a poster over the window, and flicks the lights off.

The ambient light will be enough for his needs.

“There are people roaming up and down these hallways, Hale, so you better not make a sound.” Argent reaches around Peter and unfastens his jeans, tugs them and the boxer briefs down to just under the curve of Peter’s ass. He steps back and there’s silence until Peter hears the whistle of the belt through the air a half-second before the line of fire blooms across his skin.

Peter’s forced to muffle his face in his arm to keep from crying out.

Argent ignores the younger man’s struggle, just keeps swinging, dick getting harder and harder with every line that he marks across Peter Hale’s perfect ass.

When he finishes, arms to tired to swing the belt anymore, Peter is shaking on the desk, biting hard into the meat of his arm. Before he can move, Argent’s hands are on him, cool against the burning hot flesh, and then he pulls the globes of Peter’s ass apart, rubs the pad of a thumb over the younger man’s fluttering hole.

Argent steps back, and Peter’s breathing start to settles back to normal, when he feels something cold drip onto the cleft of his ass and trickle down between. He gasps aloud, face burning as he hears the soft chuckle behind him.

“I bet you got off on that, Hale,” the teacher murmurs as he slides two slick fingers roughly into Peter. “I bet if I were to check, you’re hard as a rock.” He fucks Peter slowly with his fingers, taking his time stretching Peter open. “Shall we see?”

Argent adds a third finger as his free hand moves around to Peter’s front, cups his dick where it’s still trapped in the boxer briefs. “Not only hard but wet too, leaking like crazy.” Peter is grinding into Argent’s hand before he can make the decision to do so, and when the man moves his hand away, Peter finds himself whimpering at the loss.

“You’re a little slut for it, aren’t you, Hale? Gonna be my whore? Let me fuck you, use you for my pleasure?” Argent keeps up a steady murmur as he slicks himself up and pushes into Peter. And even with the prep, it’s a tight fit, and Peter moans softly into his arm at the burn. The teacher reaches down, pulls the younger man’s cheeks apart so that Argent can watch as Peter’s rim stretches to fit around his cock.

Argent fucks him slow, Hale was the last conference and most everyone’s gone home by now. He has all the time in the world.

He presses all the way home, until his hips are pressed against the hot welts on Peter’s ass, and then Argent drapes himself over the younger man, pulling Peter’s hands back until he’s got them pinned at the base of Peter’s back.

He grabs his belt, loops it around Peter’s neck, laughing as the younger man tightens around him in response. “Like that too, don’t you, slut?”

Peter doesn’t answer, just rests his forehead against the cool wood of the desk, and waits. He doesn’t have long to wait, though, because Argent starts fucking him in earnest now, using the belt like a leash, left hand holding Peter’s arms in place.

Argent shifts slightly, and then slams in again, and this time Peter sees stars, can’t help the movement he makes, or the involuntary cry.

“There we go,” Argent growls and then starts ramming into Peter’s prostate over and over as the belt tightens around his neck. And just as the edges of his vision begin to fuzz out, Argent lets go of the belt, and rakes his nails down Peter’s back.

Peter jerks and shudders, coming so hard he fuzzes out for a few heartbeats, comes back just in time to feel Argent pulsing inside him, filling Peter with his come. Slowly Argent pulls out, taking a deep breath, and then cleaning himself up with a wet wipe.

He pulls Peter upright by the belt, then tugs the younger man’s underwear back in place, before sliding his hand along the front, feeling the wetness there.

“I knew you would get off on that,” Argent whispers into Peter’s ear as his other hand cups Peter’s ass, rubs against the welts, presses the fabric into the come that’s leaking out of the younger man. “And you’re going to be feeling that for days.”

He lets Peter go, retrieves his belt, and then tugs Peter’s jeans up, patting the younger man’s ass again.

“Get yourself together and get the hell out of my classroom.”


	21. High School AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: lab partners au

Peter manages to look like he’s lounging on the stool in the chemistry lab when Chris walks in, and the young hunter sighs and deliberately doesn’t look his way. Refuses to acknowledge the display the wolf is putting on, the way he arches his neck, the way he automatically scents the air when Chris is near. He’s experienced enough to know what the werewolf is doing, and he’d bet Peter doesn’t even realize.

Chris is young enough that he can’t keep himself from reacting to it. So he sits on the opposite side of the room deliberately, masking his scent with that of the other teenagers.

Which proves to be effective, right until the teacher decides to give everyone new partners. Chris, because the universe hates him, gets Peter.

The beta looks up shyly through sinfully long lashes, as Chris settles on the stool and turns to face the teacher, deliberately ignoring the sapphire blue gaze.

Peter’s Alpha is even more dangerous than Chris’ father, and the only thing worse than being interested in “one of those animals” would be for it to be a male. Chris is determined to avoid getting entangled with Peter Hale.

Except Peter is  _smart_ , which Chris appreciates, and he’s got this dry humor with a hint of snark to it, and he’s really fucking pretty. And Peter has made it very clear that he’s interested in Chris. He touches the hunter, all the time. Chris knows that Peter’s subtly staking his claim, scent marking him in yet another display of instinct. He reminds himself that Peter’s just a kid, just experimenting, he doesn’t really understand what it is he’s doing.

It’s not easy, especially when those plush lips and sapphire eyes find their way into his fantasies, and Chris can’t seem to find the will to banish the thoughts. Thoughts of Peter on his knees looking up, those sinful lips wrapped around his cock. Or laid out on Chris’ cot, blue eyes wide as Chris pushes into his for the first time.

Chris groans and drops his forehead onto the desk, prompting a snicker from Peter. “It’s not that hard, Christopher.” He hates being called Christopher. Not once does he correct the werewolf.

“Actually, it is,” he whispers to himself, and only realizes his mistake when Peter goes very still beside him. Chris’ heart skips a beat as Peter’s hand settles on his thigh, and he sits up straight, aiming a quelling glare at the younger boy. But Peter’s not looking at his eyes.

The werewolf leans in to whisper, “Is that for me, Christopher?” and his hand curls around the obvious bulge in the hunter’s pants. Chris automatically reaches for his hip, for the gun that isn’t there, and Peter freezes again. It’s clear he understand the motion, knows suddenly that Chris isn’t all he seems. And Peter can put two and two together.

“Hunter,” he hisses and shoves himself backward, and Chris sees a flash of claws before they curl into Peter’s palms.

“Yeah,” Chris admits and pillows his head in his hands again. “You see the problem.” His voice is muffled but audible to a wolf.

Peter doesn’t react for a long couple of minutes, and then he’s back in his spot, hands returning to cupping Chris, who startles and almost falls off his stool.

“Yes, you  _do_  have quite a problem, Christopher,” Peter murmurs as the palm of his hand presses in and then relaxes, sliding along Chris’ zipper.

Chris’ blunt nails dig into the table as Peter’s hand moves beneath it, turns to glare at the wolf.

“Peter, stop. You cant-”

“Yes, I  _can_.” Peter’s eyes flash blue and apparently that’s what it takes, because Chris shudders in place, doing his best to control his spasm. He ends up biting through his life and tasting blood as he comes in his pants under Peter’s hand.

“You son of a bitch,” Chris rasps, trying not to take giant heaving breaths, his heart racing.

Peter grins slowly and turns back to his notebook, writes up the experiment’s results innocently and turns their notebook in, while Chris stands up, grimacing at the wetness in his pants.

“Same time tomorrow?” Peter winks and sweeps past him. Chris sighs and heads to his second hour.


	22. Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Petopher. The pack finding out through a truth spell object.

“Dude, Scotty, you know I've always wanted to make out with you.”

Scott rolls his eyes, because Stiles has joked around with him like this a million times before. He doesn't see the flash of panic in the the golden-brown eyes, or Stiles biting his lip so hard that it bleeds. Stiles has no idea why he would blurt it out like that, and he thanks whatever deity might be out there that the Alpha doesn't take it as the truth it is.

The burgeoning Emissary thinks maybe those witches did some sort of whammy on them, but as Stiles listens to the conversation, nothing seems off or alarming. He's just about to write it off as some weird quirk of his brain, until Isaac walks in, Jackson following. As usual, the latter is picking on Lahey, mocking him in that cruel, sneering way of his. For about five steps into the room.

“–completely useless on the field, but really the worst part is that you look absolutely gorgeous doing it.” Isaac stops dead and rounds on Jackson, whose face pales, then turns red, then pales again. Stiles watches, fascianted, then can't help laughing as the blue eyed beta turns on his heel and takes off running.

Isaac blinks in confusion and then turns to see Stiles snickering. “What the hell was that?” He probably means it to be demanding, but it comes out as sort of sad and confused.

“Well, he's not wrong,” Stiles says and then covers his mouth, because NOT WHAT HE MEANT TO SAY, and then shakes his head and concentrates. “Think we got hit by a truth spell.”

Isaac frowns. “We got them before they could complete any spells.”

They're still standing, staring at each other, when Argent walks in. Something about them sets his hunter instinct off, and he pulls his gun. “What's wrong?”

“We're all telling the truth when we don't want to.” Isaac answers.

Chris frowns in thought. “Truth spells require an object to focus, so there has to be something, usually wearable. A ring or a bracelet. Look around from something new. I'm going to test the range.”

He steps back out of the room. “My name is Peter Hale.”

It's not until he's three steps in the room that he's forced to say his own name, and then he steps to the side and figures it out that way.

In the dead center of the circle is Kira.

“Kira, check your pockets,” Stiles demands.

Scott looks up at Stiles. “I know you're always jealous of my girlfriends but could you stop treating them like second class citizens?”

The brown eyes go wide and he claps a hand over his mouth in a dramatic fashion. Stiles just stares at him.

Chris rolls his eyes. _Fucking teenagers_.

Kira empties her pockets and sure enough, there's a tiny delicate ring, carved with a grinning fox.

“Tricksters,” Stiles says with such loathing that Kira flinches away. Scott glares and pulls her close.

“How did you not realize?” Stiles asks Scott, and manages to keep his tone even.

Scott shrugs and then looks at Kira, flashes her that sunshine smile. “I guess we tell each other the truth.”

The look she gives him makes Stiles wrinkle up his nose and he turns away, feeling the need to get away from them.

Chris reaches out his hand, and she drops the ring into it. “I have a warded box it will be safe in.”

“You can't keep anything safe.” Derek and Peter are just inside the circle's boundary, and Derek's hazel eyes open wide and he looks somewhat apologetically at the hunter.

Peter's amused by the accusation that slipped from his nephew's mouth, and then narrows his eyes as he sees everyone looking at him. He crosses his arms and meets their gazes, until at last he settles on Chris. They stare each other down, and the tension in the room rises. Everyone but Stiles looks confused.

Derek steps closer and whispers to Stiles. “What's going on?”

Stiles represses a shiver at the wolf's breath against his neck. “You're turning me on, Chris has a truth cursed object, Scott and Kira are being disgustingly cute, and Jackson has the hots for Isaac.”

Derek blinks owlishly as he digests that, but Stiles barely notices what he's said, he's focused on the older men.

Peter saunters closer, and Stiles can see the knuckles of Chris' hand turns white where they're clenched around the ring.

The beta lifts his chin defiantly and looks into the hunter's eyes. “I have loved you for over twenty years, Christopher Argent. Gerard beating me half to death, Talia taking my memories, your sister burning my family alive, _even death_ did not make me stop loving you. There's never been anyone but you for me, and that's why I let you back into my bed, even though you still love Victoria, even though you use me to distract yourself from your grief, even though you have _never_ loved me that way, if you're even capable of it. Is that enough truth for you?”

He smirks, and arches a brow at Chris' silence, then shrugs and wanders out.

Chris makes a strangled noise and looks down at the ring's imprint in his hand from where he'd been clenching it so tightly.

“You might want to get that taken care of before we all sit down and start singing Kumbayah together,” Stiles suggests, and the hunter nods, sets his jaw and strides from the room.

Stiles sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Fucking witches.”

He looks around to see Scott and Kira cuddling, and Isaac staring out the door. “Dude, go after him.” Isaac startles, blinks, and then flashes the pseudo-Emissary a smile before he does so.

Stiles nods and grabs his bag, slings it over his shoulder.

“I'll give you a ride home,” Derek says suddenly, and Stiles arches a brow.

“Dude, I have a jeep, remember?”

“Don't you think we should talk?”

“Nope,” Stiles says, popping the 'p', walks out the room and never once looks back.

-

Peter knows who's at his door before the knock even sounds, had heard the distinct sound of the SUV's engine.

“It's unlocked,” he calls, not getting up from where he's seated in the dark, drinking wolfsbane-laced wine.

Chris shuts and locks the door behind him. Peter drinks.

“Peter,” he starts, and the wolf holds up a hand.

“Christopher, I don't want to hear anything you've got to say right now.” He settles down his wine glass and rises, heading towards the bedroom. Chris reaches out and grabs a handulf of his shirt, slams him up against the wall with a growl.

“Oh, are we doing rough tonight?”

“Dammit, Peter... I don't want to _fuck_ anymore.”

“Ah, well then,” Peter says calmly, “You can see yourself out.”

“Peter...”

“Christopher, I have nothing else to offer you.”

Chris crushes his mouth against the werewolf's, and after a brief moment of surprise, Peter reciprocates, parting his lips and pressing his body up against the older man's.

“Peter,” he breathes against the beta's lips, “I don't want to _just_ fuck. I want to wake up next to you and see your messy bed hair in the sunshine. I want to see that little crinkle in the corner of your eyes when you think you're being clever. I want to see the way your eyes flash when you're angry, and hold you when you have nightmares.”

“You're an idiot,” Peter sneers, and Chris flashes a grin.

“I'll take that as a yes.”


	23. Crinkles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: I have absolutely no idea if you're interested in prompts from strangers but, listen, Ian Bohen's crinkled-eyed-laugh is giving me heart palpitations. Can you imagine Chris accidentally making Peter laugh, like full on laugh, and he's suddenly struck by how beautiful he is. Like, of course he knows he's hot, but it's the first time he notices how he's pretty too. And then Chris spends an inordinate amount of time making jokes at Peter and Peter KNoWs?

YOOOOOO, um yes OF COURSE I always want to talk about Peter Hale and Chris Argent. Also, come here and let me love you. -squishes- There, you’re not a stranger anymore. 

But YES, lets talk about the fact that Peter only  _smirks_  when he’s around the Pack, there’s no joy in his sardonic amusement, and it never quite reaches his eyes. But over time, he starts to relax a bit, I mean they’ll never be  _his_  Pack, but he’s getting used to them. He starts having  _things in common_  with them, like he and Isaac simply enjoy silence together, and Isaac mentions to Chris that he gets the feeling that Peter’s home life was maybe difficult like his.  And while Scott somehow sets Peter on edge like no one else, Kira softens it out because it’s literally impossible to hate Kira.

And  _of course_  Chris has noticed how hot Peter is, the damn wolf flaunts himself whenever he gets the chance, those stupid v-necks and jeans that look like they’re painted on…bends over and shows off those glorious pecs, or the other way round, leans so that the denim highlights the curve of his ass.  But that’s not what makes Chris fall head over heels for the annoying, snarky asshole.

No, he can pinpoint the  _exact_  moment. The kids are out back. Derek’s grilling, the rest of the boys are playing lacrosse in the back forty, and the girls are plotting something that Chris is trying not to think too hard about. John and Melissa are curled up together on the porch swing, her head on his shoulder.  It’s just a regular Saturday cookout, but Chris goes inside to grab another beer, and there’s Peter in the kitchen, putting some various salads together.

Chris doesn’t even know what he says, something self-deprecating but appropos, he thinks, but the wolf laughs. A true laugh, not the snicker-at-someone’s-misfortune, or the snort-of-derision.  This is an actual laugh, Peter’s smile is real, without artifice, and his eyes brighten with humor, but the thing that gets Chris is how the corner of his eyes crinkle.  It’s stupid right, but that’s the moment that he truly realizes how  _beautiful_  Peter Hale is.

Chris is obviously staring, and the smile slowly fades as Peter dons a mocking eyebrow lift, and the hunter shakes himself out of it, escapes with the beer.  But he  _thinks_  about it, about seeing Peter’s face lit up from within. Chris thinks about it all the time, moons over it, if he’s being honest, like a lovesick teenager, and determines that he has to see the wolf that way again.

So he starts cracking jokes, stupid things, Dad Jokes, Stiles terms them, whenever Peter is around, watching the wolf out of the corner of his eye to see if he’s laughing. The wolf sometimes purses his lips in amusement, and occasionally his eyes dance, but it gradually dawns on Chris that Peter is not going to let go in front of the Pack.  So he starts engineering time for them to be alone, volunteers to pair with Peter on a stakeout, and does his best to make Peter laugh.

And it works, not in the way he thought, it’s something random Chris says, and not a deliberate joke, but it wins him the prize, that crinkle-eyed-laugh, and Chris is just overcome with this surge of emotion, just this awe at the man beside him.  He’s pulling Peter close and kissing him desperately before he even realizes what he’s doing, and Chris starts to apologize as he immediately pulls back, but the wolf is having none of it, he tugs Chris right back to him. 

"I’ve been waiting for you to do that for months," he murmurs against the hunter’s lips, and Chris is all surprised because he’s been so stealthy right? And Peter just rolling his eyes, and whispering that he knew what Chris was trying to do all along, and whatever they’re supposed to be watching totally gets away, because they make out in Chris’ SUV like teenagers.


	24. Poker Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Petopher. “Our next defeat is scheduled for next Friday, 8 o’clock.” (It’s a quote from Bring It On.)

“Our next defeat is scheduled for next Friday, 8 o’clock.” Peter’s voice is sardonic as he hangs up the phone, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall.

"I would have thought a werewolf would be much better at poker than you are."

Peter glares at him, huffing as he watches Chris mark the date on their calender. “Somehow John manages to never actually lie. And I can’t smell Melissa’s emotions over her perfume.”

Chris hides a grin. “Pretty sure she does that on purpose.” He slides his arms around the wolf and leans down for a brief kiss. “At least be glad it isn’t strip poker. You’d be on display in no time.”

He presses his thigh between Peter’s legs and leans close to whisper low into his ear. “Then again, I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

The hardening length against his thigh is all the answer Chris needs as he bites down at the crook of Peter’s neck, and curls a hand around to tuck into the werewolf’s back pocket.

"After you lose I’ll take you out for dessert to make you feel better."

"I want cheesecake," Peter says sulkily, but arches his neck as Chris continues to mark it up.

"Anything you want, Hale," Chris murmurs against his skin before curling his hand into his husband’s and tugging him off to their bedroom.


	25. Prayers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Petopher. "I won't have a gay son." "Then mom, you don't have a son." "Fine." (from Prayers for Bobby, one of my fave movies. also, just realized that the character Bobby is played by Ryan Kelley, aka Parrish.)
> 
> Warnings: Angst, Implied Death

"I won’t have a gay son."

"Then mom, you don’t have a son."

"Fine." Her eyes flash red, and Peter has two heartbeats before he feels the sting of her claws piercing his neck, and he has time to scream her name before darkness overcomes him.

“ **TALIA!** ”

-

He wakes up curled on a massive stump.  _The Nemeton_ , his mind supplies as he blinks up to see that he’s surrounded by men with gun.

"Let us see your eyes, Omega," the leader growls in his raspy voice. 

 _Omega, packless_ , Peter thinks, and then the knowledge that  _this is what he is_ hits him, and he lowers his head, lifting it up to show his glowing eyes.  He doesn’t know how he got them, but he knows that they are blue instead of golden.

"That’s all we need to know," the older man snarls, and the werewolf hears the click of several safetys being thumbed off.

"Dad, no!" A younger man darts between two hunters and scrambles up on top of the stump with Peter, and he furrows a brow and stares at the blonde blankly. "You can’t shoot him, you know who he is."

"He’s an Omega now," the man tells his son, "Alpha Hale has rescinded her protection and tossed him out of the pack."

The blonde hunter’s son turns to face the confused wolf, and cups his face in strong, calloused hands. “Peter,” he breathes, “you did it, you stood up to her for me.”

Peter feels drawn to this man, so easily up in his space, but he  _doesn’t know him_ , and the lack of recognition must show in his face because the young hunter recoils and his voice is tinged with horror as he whispers, “What did she do to you?”

Peter shakes his head in frustration and looks up into the blonde man’s piercing blue eyes.  They’re the last thing he sees before the wolfsbanes bullets pierce into his skin.


	26. BB!Chris

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Petopher with Peter topping bb!Chris
> 
> Warnings: Brief thoughts of rape by Peter, bottom chris argent

Yes, lets talk about bb!Chris and those beautiful big blue eyes of his, how when Peter saw them for the first time way back in high school, he  _wanted, and never stopped._

 

How, now that that Chris has been hit with a deaging spell, and Peter’s the older one now, Peter’s the one with the experience, how he’s going to find some way to get the Chris of his teenage fantasies on his knees, to see those eyes looking up at him, watering with tears as Peter fills his throat.

And maybe a different man would have thought twice about taking advantage, but Peter Hale’s morals burned away with the fire, and so he takes his chance at the first opportunity, corners the now-younger man in his own living room.

"Do you know who I am?" Peter murmurs low as he crowds the blonde up against the wall, but this young Chris surprises him, lifts his chin and nods.

"Peter," he says gently, too gently, and something inside the wolf cracks.

"Do you know what we are to each other?" He growls, more forcefully than he had intended, claws pricking into the young hunter’s skin.

This young version of Chris reaches out and cups his cheek. “I’ve always known. That’s why I stayed away for so long, and why I have to leave.  Father will find a way to use you against your pack. And I can’t be the reason you lose them, Peter.”

Peter sets his jaw, looks away as his eyes flash blue and his fangs push through his gums. His mouth tastes like ash.

Suddenly he knows that just having this Chris’ mouth will not be enough. He needs to claim all of him. 

"You belong to me," he lisps before pulling back his change by sheer force of will. "And I will have you, all of you, tonight. Now."

"As you wish," grins Chris, cocksure and smug, and Peter is forced to shove him up against the wall, to brutally claim those smirking lips, to force his tongue inside and taste this version of Christopher, pure and sweet and not yet crushed by the life of the hunter.

"Easy, wolf," Chris mumbles through bruised lips, "I’m breakable, remember?"

"I know," grins Peter darkly, "I intend to break you."

But even as Peter lifts the human off his feet and carries him into his own bedroom, ignoring the cursing and the threats, he feels like he’s the one coming apart.

And when those plush lips are wrapped around him, it doesn’t feel like a victory, it feels like he’s losing himself, those eyes branding Christopher on his soul.

So he tugs the human off, and shoves him onto the bed, claws shredding through jeans and underthings alike. Chris  _still_  does not fear Peter, not even when the wolf pins him down and presses a dry finger to the furled muscle, twists as if he intends to force within.  Those sapphire blues just fix on the older man above him, and Peter  _can’t_.

He wants to wreck this precious thing, to destroy young Chris as he’s destroyed everything else, to break him as he himself has been broken.  But there’s something human in the monster after all, something perhaps that only this version of Chris could bring forth.

Peter doesn’t fuck this young boy, doesn’t force himself in and takes his own pleasure.  He  _loves_  him.

Peter takes his time opening the tight young body up, with fingers and tongue, until Chris is demanding to be fucked already, until the wolf is sure that he won’t hurt young Chris.  

He slides gently inside, biting back a whimper at the tightness around himself, at the feeling of being inside  _his_ Christopher, and he leans forward, rests his forehead against this young man’s, and they move together, Chris’ blunt human nails making marks that Peter will feel long after they’ve faded.  

Chris comes first, muscles of his neck cording as he clutches Peter to him. The feeling of his essence marking up Peter’s stomach, Chris’ scent melting into his skin, that’s what sends the wolf over, and he gasps out Chris’ name as he stakes his claim.

Chris reaches for his face, pulls Peter’s lips to his and whispers against them. “I will always love you, Peter Hale.”

And Peter shatters into a million pieces.


	27. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's for Breyito. ;)

Chris Argent wakes up on his own bed, sticky and sore…and back to his old self. Literally. He groans as he moves, and turns over to look right into the blue eyes of the wolf he’s spend the better part of two decades avoiding getting into just such a situation with.

 

The silence goes on way too long.

It’s Chris who breaks it. ”Peter…” 

"You were hit with a spell, Christopher," Peter says, clinically and detached, "You were deaged back to the way you looked when I first saw you.  I…" He trails off a moment and there’s almost something vulnerable shining in those eyes for a brief moment. "You said you loved me."

Chris passes a hand over his eyes, turning his face away. “Fuck. Peter, I’m sorry. I didn’t have much self-control then.” Still, he is responsible, even though he can’t recall it. “I shouldn’t have done that to you.”

For all his snark and posturing, Peter Hale is extremely vulnerable to his emotions, and Chris promised himself long ago that he’d never use that to manipulate Peter.  

"You don’t remember it?"

Chris shakes his head ruefully. “Not a damned thing.” He pushes himself up to a sitting position with a wince. “Probably for the better.”

Peter recoils, stung, hurt flashing in his eyes before the icy calm mask slides over it.

Chris frowns where he’s sitting with his back to Peter, and shakes his head. “That must have been a doozy of a spell. I just got the strangest feeling of - ” He rubs the back of his neck absently, and then freezes as he feels it.

"Peter, did you…?"

"I did." Peter rolls on his back and tucks his arms behind his head. "You said you loved me."

"Dammit, Peter, how could you? There’s no way we can.. It will  _never_  work!” Chris is standing now, yelling at Peter who looks more and more amused for some reason.

He pushes off the bed and stalks towards Chris, crowds him up against the wall. 

"Peter," the hunter says warningly, lips set in a thin line, eyes icy cold.

"Christopher," Peter whispers against the skin of his neck after darting in for a soft kiss against the tempting expanse. "I can feel your emotions too.  And you are  _not_  angry with me.” He trails kisses along the corded muscle, slides his left hand along the hunter’s chest and abdomen. 

"Peter," Chris tries again, but this one is nothing more than a breathy moan as blunt human teeth sink into his neck, and that clever hand curls around his thickening cock.

"Christopher," Peter says, eyes flashing blue. "Bed. Now."

The hunter starts to argue, but Peter simply picks him up and takes him to where he wants Chris.

He lays the older man down on the bed, leans over him and trails kisses down along his sternum, hands caressing everywhere he can reach, and then dips his head lower to lave his tongue along the jutting shaft a brief moment. 

Peter slides to his knees on the floor, and pulls Chris’s ass to the edge of the bed, pulls him open and glides his tongue along the crease, chuckling at the strangled gasp he makes.

Peter doesn’t waste any time teasing, he dives right it, fucking his tongue into Chris, tasting himself on his tongue. He pulls back every now and then to tease his fingers along that swollen puffy rim, and just watches Chris’ face, how he tries to control himself.

It becomes a sort of chess match, Peter seeking to make Chris react, the hunter fighting to retain his stoicism.

Peter knows he’s won when the older man’s hand reaches to wrap around himself, but the wolf just pins the hunter’s hands down at his sides, and then wraps his lips around Chris’ leaking cock.

Chris bucks as the wolf suckles him, turns glassy eyes down to watch the younger man’s cheek’s hollow, and then he flops his head back down as the werewolf brings him just to the edge before backing away once again.

Chris swears under his breath and takes a few deep breaths, but Peter is already lining himself up, and pushes the blunt head of his cock just past the furled muscle, and then pulls back out, still holding Chris’ hands down.

He keeps doing this, tiny little thrusts, just teasing that rim, until Chris growls at him. “Just fuck me already you asshole.”

"Say it again," Peter demands, and Chris knows what he’s asking, closes his eyes tight, and looks up at his beautiful and broken wolf.

"I love you, Peter Hale," he says, and the truth of it is not just evident in the steady heartbeat, but of the shining affection he can  _feel_  from the hunter.

Peter leans down, slides himself all the way home and presses his lips tenderly to the older man’s.

"Nothing can ever keep us apart again."


	28. The Road To Hell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Petopher: “I’ll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife” Hozier, Take Me To Church
> 
> Warnings: Bloodplay, Knife Kink, Priest Chris, So Much Sacrilege

“I once thought I could save you,” Father Chris whispers into the younger man’s ear, lips coated with red. “Instead you’ve damned me.”

He flicks the knife out suddenly, another line opening on Peter’s skin, and ducks his head down, tongue flicking out to taste the crimson essence that bubbles forth.

This is how they do communion, Peter worships at the altar of the priests body, and the Father drinks the wine of his blood.

 

Peter throws his head back, plush lips curving into a smirk, finger lifting up to hook over the tell-tale white square in the otherwise unrelieved black of the priests’s collar.

“Your devil and your angel, Father,” Peter whispers before tugging the reddened mouth to his, sliding his tongue along the crease of the older man’s lips.

As Chris parts them for Peter, he pulls the younger man’s hand beneath his robe, letting Peter explore his way along the expanse of skin, gasping into the other’s mouth as those clever fingers tighten around his thickened cock, stroke slowly and lingeringly.

They have all the time in the world today.

The parishioners were all long since gone, the church had been cleaned, and the doors had been locked. Peter had slunk from the shadows, fallen to his knees underneath the outstretched arms of Christ, and offered up a knife to the Father.

Chris uses the knife one last time, nicks the skin at the base of Peter’s neck, and buries his face there, suckling as Peter takes the weapon from his hands. And now it’s his turn to be still while Peter does as he wishes, to let himself be splayed across the altar, a sacrifice to his living god.

Peter slowly cuts the robe away, hands caressing and touching as each new expanse of pale skin is revealed, until only the collar remains. Peter leaves that in place, kicks Chris’ legs apart so that he’s forced to curve his back, arch his ass into the chill air of the sacred place.

Peter thumbs open the altar bible, quotes from Leviticus before he settles the open pages beneath Chris’ cheek. “ For the life of the flesh is the blood: and I have given it to you upon the altar…”

The priest breathes in the scent of the old pages as Peter stretches his arms out, curls Chris’ fingers around the heavy candlesticks and bids him hold them there.

The white marble is cold against his skin, but not as cold as the liquid now dripping and sliding along the cleft of his ass, Peter chuckling softly as the Father twitches.

“Father forgive me,” he murmurs as he uses a finger to spread the scented oil around the older man’s puckered rim, “for I have sinned.” He punctuates the ritual statement by thrusting one slick finger into the priest. Peter is silent a moment as he twists it around the rim tugging and then adds another. “It has been 13 days since my last confession.” The younger man pulls his fingers apart and stretches Chris until his hole is gaping, framed by a puffy pink rim.

Peter uses the self-same oil to slick his length, and then curls himself over the older man’s back, whispers into Chris’ ear as he slides himself into the priest. “I have lusted over you every waking moment since then.” He press his hips against the soft curve of the Father’s ass, luxuriating for a long moment in the feel of being sheathed in the hot tightness.

Peter rakes his nails along the priest’s back, marking the pale skin, and groaning at the way it makes Chris tighten around him. He leans to the side and frees one lit candle from its holder, brings it over and tilts it over the older man. He starts fucking the Father, long slow strokes as he drips wax in a mockery of the sign of the cross, decorating Chris’ back with the sign of his faith.

Blowing the candle out, Peter tugs the priest’s head back by his collar and puts the wax cylinder in his mouth like a bit, then using the collar like reins, he start taking his pleasure of the older man’s body. Chris trembles beneath him, but holds his place obediently.

Peter fucks the Father hard and fast, thrust harshly into him until that bloom of warmth spreads in his gut, and he slams into the splayed out priest and pumps the older man full of his come.

“Thank you, Father,” Peter whispers before he detaches himself, then lifts the knife from where it sits to their side, locked in its leather sheath.

Rotating the weapon, Peter grasps it by the leather covered end, and inserts the knobbed metal end into the priest, reaching a still oiled hand down to the painfully hard cock beneath him. He bids the Father rise, making him stand in place with his hands curled at his sides as Peter’s hands work him, one fucking the knife into him behind, the other stripping his cock until the priest is shooting thick ropes of white across the marble of the altar.

Chris tries his best to remains stoically silent, but Peter wrings tiny gasps and breathy whimpers from him, and the younger man is smug when he pushes the priest back down, makes him lie in his own defilement of the sacred, knife still tightly in place inside him.

“In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit,” Peter whispers against the back of Chris’ neck before pressing his lips to the skin in soft benediction. “Until next time, Father.”


	29. Nothing To Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "You shouldn't tremble when we touch, there's no reason for these fears." (Meatloaf, A Kiss Is A Terrible Thing To Waste)
> 
> Warnings: Dub-Con

“Argent, we _can't_.” Peter's voice is a hitched whisper, breath catching as Chris moves his fingers inside the wolf.

“Of course we can,” Chris soothes as he twists his slick fingers around that sensitive rim, keeps teasing Peter endlessly.

“My family, they'll smell you on me.”

Now it's nearly a whine as Chris' free hand cups him in front, and he shushes the younger boy. “If someone hears us, it'll all be over.” He leans and and kisses Peter's outstretched neck. “And don't worry, I'll help you clean it out. Nothing to be afraid of.”

Peter can't _think_ , everything the older, more experience boy's hands are doing to him is clouding his mind, and all he can think about is the warmth spreading through his gut, and he whimpers, claws pricking into his palms, where he's got them balled up into fists.

“Argent, _Christopher_ , I'm going to – ” And then he gasps as Chris just stops, removes his hands from front and back, and he trembles in place as Chris presses his front against Peter's, wraps his hand around both of them now, and the hot brand of Chris' cock against his is _amazing_ , and Chris kisses him hungrily as he brings Peter over the edge, spreading the wolf's come over both of them.

Peter breathes Chris' name against the young hunter's lips as he finishes, and then finds himself up against the cold pole underneath the bleachers, and he doesn't have the strength to deny Chris now. Peter is loose and pliable as the older boy slides his thickness along the slippery cleft of the werewolf's ass.

Chris doesn't ask again, just lets the blunt head of his cock catch on the puffy, raw rim a few times before he slides just the head in, and Peter's so relaxed now, limply leaning against the pole, that Chris can't resist seeing how much of himself he can slide in. He'd only intended to push in a little ways, but he finds himself fully seated in a couple thrusts, and it's like nothing he's ever felt before.

Peter's making little hurt noises as Chris fucks into him, but he knows the werewolf will heal from whatever Chris does to him, so he doesn't worry too much about it, just fucks into the younger boy hard and fast, wrapping his arms around the werewolf and holding him tight.

And Peter starts to make noises like he's going to make Chris stop, but the older boy starts whispering in Peter's ear. “So fucking good for me, Hale. I knew you could take me all in.”

Chris punctuates the praise with a series of quick thrusts, and then just like that, he's coming inside Peter. Chris mouths at the wolf's ear as he holds himself inside for just another minute, and the younger boy can feel the throbbing inside him. “There you go baby, now you're mine. No one fucks this ass but me.”

Chris gasps as he pulls away, tugs a cloth from his back pocket and wipes himself clean before he tucks his dick back into his pants. He picks up Peter's pants from where they lay forgotten on the ground, and watches the wolf grimace as he tugs his boxers back into place.

“C'mon, we'll duck into the locker room and get you cleaned up.”

Chris takes the lead, keeps a lookout for anyone as he takes Peter into the far shower, the one with the bench in it.

“Strip, Hale,” Chris demands, and watches him do so, smirking at the blush heightening his cheeks. He turns the shower on, and then makes Peter put his hands on the bench. Chris takes his time cleaning Peter out, dips his soapy fingers in again and again to check that nothing remained of him within the werewolf.

Chris slicks up the other hand and slides it along Peter's balls and then around his already hard dick, bringing him off once more as the wolf obediently never lets go of the bench.

Chris has Peter go to his knees next, and washes the rest of him thoroughly, and then shuts the water off, hands him his towel.

Chris crosses his arms and leans back against the wall as he watches the wolf gets dressed again, choosing to go commando rather than don the come-stained boxers.

“I knew you were mature enough to handle all this,” Chris says approvingly, “now come on, I'll drive you home, and you can thank me properly.”

Peter thanks him with an inexpert blow job on the drive home, but he manages to make Chris come, and swallows everything the older boy gives him.

Chris pulls him close as he pulls over to the side of the road just before the long driveway to the Hale place, and engages him in some slow, lazy kisses.

“We're going to be together forever now, babe. You'll never have to worry about being alone again.”


	30. Renewal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Petopher and "I'm your wolf- I'm your man, I say run little monster, Before you know who I am" from Royal Blood's "Little Monster"
> 
> Warnings: Dub Con, Young Chris Argent

The smell of burning flesh fills his nostrils, and Peter Hale smiles slowly. This time it’s a fire of his own choosing, almost poetic, he thinks as he watches the corpse of Valack burn in his bed, and then slips through the door, locking it afterward, then the outer door, moving silently as only a wolf can as he escapes from Eichen House and its horrors.

Valack had done him a favor before he died, had restored all of his memories. Now Peter Hale knows  _everything_ , and he’s determined to get back what he’s lost. No, what his sister  _stole_  from him.

His first stop is Alan Deaton’s clinic, where he now remembers the secret to getting in through the back door. He doesn’t bother with accusations or demands, just silently slips in and slits the druid’s throat with a claw. Peter crouches and watches Deaton bleed out, waits until the heart beats its last.

“You helped my sister take everything from me, you deserved far worse, but I’m on a bit on a time crunch,” he tells the corpse. “See you in hell.”

Peter raids the vet’s stash of drugs for what he needs and then takes Deaton’s car keys.

-

Chris is slumped in a chair, apparently having drunk himself to sleep. He doesn’t wake up as the long needle slides into his neck.

Peter carries him easily out to the vet’s van, lays him carefully in the back, and heads to Mexico. Now Peter knows exactly what Kate Argent did to his nephew, and he knows how to alter it to make it work on a human. He’s going to bring back the boy he fell in love with.

-

It works, of course it does, Peter has the full compliment of his skills now, not the bits and pieces that have slipped through the cracks of Talia’s mind control.

He waits, holed up in the tomb, pacing as Chris’ body goes through the changes, hovers worriedly during the full moon, and then feels a wild giddiness as Chris opens those gorgeous blue eyes and looks at him.

“It’s okay, Christopher. You’re safe now.”

“Who…?”

Peter smiles slowly, almost shyly, full of hope. “I’m your wolf.”

Chris blinks once, “Peter. You’re. Old?”

Peter arches a brow in amusement. “It’s been a long while.”

Chris pushes up, looks around. “Where?”

“Mexico,” Peter says, “You’ve been entombed, under a spell.”

Chris turns and eyes him. “ _How_  long?”

Peter comes close, cups the hunter’s young face in his hands. “Do you remember when I told you about Talia practicing on omegas, messing with their memories?”

Chris nods, wide eyed.

“She got very good at it.” Peter’s eyes flash blue before he closes them and turns his face away.

“Oh,  _Peter_ ,” Chris say softly, “You’ve been alone all this time?”

“Thirty years without you Christopher, and I didn’t even know what was missing, why I couldn’t anchor…” he trails off as Chris pulls him close, wraps his arms around the werewolf.

“I’m here now, Peter. We’ll figure this out together.”

Peter lifts his chin up, nods softly and then stiffens in surprise as Chris presses his lips to the wolf’s. Chris smiles against the unresponsive lips, whispers. “I have thirty years to make up for.”

Peter closes his eyes, and lets himself melt into his lover’s embrace.


	31. The Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Petopher, Stay alive but stay the same, it's just the same a stupid game

“Peeeeeterrrrrr.” Stiles’ voice sings out across the fog covered Preserve, and the wolf twitches in spite of himself. Chris settles a calming hand on his shoulder and they share a look before Peter nods.

Chris flashes a tight smile, then puts his game face on, sparkling blue eyes going flat, cold, deadly.

“Not exactly,” Chris says, and unloads an entire clip into the nogitsune-possessed boy.

“Your weapons don’t work here,” the thing hisses, and then the landscape shimmers, the both of them suddenly in a wide expanse of snow, before the winds whip up and they’re blinded by swirling white.

_They’ve been at this for at least two months. Chris is relying on Peter’s estimation, he can still feel the wax and wane of the moon. They’re not sure if they’re trapped in their own minds, if it’s Stiles’ mind, or more horrifyingly, in the real world, but just not seeing it right._

_They’ve watched everyone die until it was just them and Stiles. They used to see flashes of him, times where he would struggle up to the surface and impart what he could, but not in a while. Now they just run and fight, and try to kill it._

Chris hunkers down, wraps his leather jacket around himself as best he can and waits for Peter to find him. They’ve been through this before, and discovered that Chris can, in fact, get hypothermia in this illusion world.

Chris is tired, so tired, and it’s only the sheer stubbornness of the wolf that keeps him going sometimes. Peter Hale will not be beaten by anything. He’s the one that keeps coming up with plots, ways to try and trap the nogitsune, ideas on hos to escape from every trap that’s been laid for them.

Chris thinks they’re still alive because Peter keeps playing the demon’s game.

He’s mentally taken apart seven rifles and reassembled them by the time his wolf finds him, wraps around the hunter and shares his body heat.

Chris huddles inside the werewolf’s arms and listens to Peter’s voice, listens to him talk, more ideas, more slight variations on things they’ve already tried. Chris knows that nothing will work, but he lets it lull him into a light doze.

-

Peter’s eyes flash blue as he ducks under the bush, leaps across the hole they’ve dug, and then grabs for the vine rope as Stiles stalks towards him, laughing and sneering. Stiles body drops into the hole and Peter drops the net on top of him, while Chris shoots an arrow from a crude bow, one after another into the nogitsune.

He just laughs and then changes the scenery again, from the pleasant forest to an urban wasteland.

“Peter,” Chris whispers, and he feels the wolf curl his fingers into the hunter’s, turns to pull him into a quick kiss.

“I think we’re weakening him,” Peter whispers back, and they creep into the shadow of a building, Chris hiding his skepticism at Peter incessant determination.

Then he stops dead in his tracks.

“Christopher?”

“Peter, your eyes are still blue.”

“I’m still a killer, old man.”

“And still a  _beta_.”

They look at each other.  _Someone’s still alive out there_. Peter would have gotten the Alpha spark if everyone had died.

“That’s what he’s waiting for, for me to get that spark. That’s what he wants.”

Someone in the real world is evading the demon. It’s all they need to give them renewed hope that whoever it is will figure out how to kill the thing and release them from this mental prison.

Until then, they have a game to play.

Peter flashes a feral smile. “I’ve got another idea.”


	32. The Ring

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: led by a beating heart (peter/chris)

Chris is at the pawn shop, looking for a specific piece for his collection when he sees it. The hunter bends over the glass to get a closer look. It's a [triple banded silver ring](http://www.rickcamerondesign.com/wildlife-jewelry-2/rings/wolf-ring.htm), and the top is a wolf's head. He hands over the two hundred for it and curls it into his palm.

He knows he'll never use it, Peter's not exactly the marrying type, and they've only been together a handful of times...but Chris can't pass it up.

He keeps it in the drawer of his bedside table, in a tiny little mountain ash box he keeps locked with a silver key.

Chris doesn't touch it for another three months. It's not until he's standing in the doorway to his bedroom, drying his hair from his post-workout shower, watching the wolf sprawled out in his bed, snoring softly, that he has the sudden urge to propose.

He goes and makes coffee instead. But that night, he pulls out the ring and looks at it for a long, long while. The next morning, he moves it into his closet, onto the top shelf. _Out of sight, out of mind_ , he thinks.

But he's wrong.

Chris thinks about it when he goes to get the cheap tin of coffee and finds several blends organized alphabetically in his cupboard. He thinks about it again when faded old ripped jeans are magically replaced by a new pair, similar but designer, of course. And when Peter shows up for the first time without asking, just wanders in with Chris' favorite takeout.

 _Peter is allergic to commitment_ , he reminds himself, and instead of taking out that ring, he says 'I love you' with his lips and fingers and body later that night.

And as he wraps himself around his wolf, he reminds himself to just take every day as it comes, and to stop hoping for more. That way only lies heartbreak.

Peter finds it after they've been living together for six months. He just stopped going home one day, gradually his stuff migrated to Chris' apartment. And then he'd taken the task of cleaning and organizing the whole place.

Chris looks up from cleaning his sniper rifle when Peter drops the box on the coffee table, wrapped in one of Chris' ripped and bloodstained shirts. And then stalks away without saying a word.

Chris looks at it for a long time in silence. Eventually, he reaches out and opens it up, runs his thumb over the wolf's head gently.

“How long have you had that, Christopher?”

Peter voice is soft next to his ear, and Chris turns to look at him. “Almost two years now,” He shrugs and looks back at the ring. “After the thing with the troll.”

Peter's eyes glow faintly as he recalls the troll nearly slicing him to ribbons, and Chris being the one who held him together until he started to heal, who took him to his house and cleaned him up when he passed out. And who accepted him without comment into his bed that night.

“Were you ever going to give it to me?” Peter knows it's for him, who else would it be for?

“Nope,” Chris says, popping the 'p' and closing the box with a snap. “I like things the way there are.” He tosses the box into the trash and stalks out the door, goes to the bar and gets himself sloppy drunk, thinks about all the people he's lost, and ends up at the cemetery, sprawled across the row of graves. Victoria, Kate, Allison, and Gerard at the end.

At some point he must pass out, because when he wakes up, Peter's on the ground next to him, wrapped around and keeping him warm. And he has the ring on.

“How...?”

“Stiles.”

Chris is silent a moment, then he turns to look at Peter. “You sure?”

Peter lays his head on Chris' chest, listens to the beat of his heart. “Absolutely.”


	33. Daddy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Daddy kink with bottom Chris

It happens after they’ve been fucking for a couple months, off and on. Peter had Chris pinned to the bed, wrists held at the small of the hunters back, and he’s fucking into him hard when he hears it.  A soft, breathed whisper that only a wolf would have heard.

“ _Daddy_.”

 

Peter doesn’t say anything, keeps it to himself and mulls it over for a while. Until the next time they’re together, this time up against a tree out in the Preserve, and Peter’s got one hand wrapped around Chris’ throat, the other stripping both their dicks together, and then he leans in, eyes flash supernatural blue, and growls into Chris’ ear as the hunter is  gasping out his name. 

"Call me Daddy."

Chris’ eyes fly wide open, and his orgasm hits him by surprise, spilling over Peter’s hand as his hands scrabble over the bark of the tree behind him.

"Ah, I was right," Peter’s voice is smug as he leans in and captures Chris’ lips with his as he chases his own release.  

Chris doesn’t call him for two weeks.

Peter takes matters into his own hands, climbs through the second floor window and right into bed with Chris.  The hunter instinctively turns into his warmth, and Peter holds him a while, until Chris begins to awaken.  He stiffens in surprise as he realizes, and Peter whispers to him.

"Sh, Daddy’s got you."

The wolf can smell the sudden spike of arousal, can feel the cock thickening against his tight, but Chris pushes away, starts to get out of bed.  Peter tugs him back in, pulls the hunter’s back against his chest, slots his own hard cock along the pajama covered crease of the older man’s ass.

"It’s okay, baby. I like it."

Chris mumbles under his breath, buries his face in Peter’s arm. The wolf kisses the back of his neck.

"You never have to be embarrassed, Christopher. Not around me." He slides his left hand into Chris’ pajama pants, slides his middle finger down until he encounters a slickness, and his finger slides easily into Chris’ hole.

"Oh, baby, were you fingering yourself earlier?"

Chris murmurs in the affirmative, pushing back against Peter’s questing finger.

"Were you thinking about me? About me being your Daddy?"

Chris doesn’t answer, but he gives a tiny gasp and clenches around the finger inside him.

Peter slides the pajamas down further, unfastens his jeans one-handed, and then slides himself into Chris. 

"Such a good boy for Daddy," he breathes against the hunter’s ear. "Getting all wet and open for me."

Peter fucks into him a few more times, then curls his hand around Chris’ cloth covered dick, and he can feel the wet spot from the hunter’s precome.  ”You gonna come for Daddy, Christopher?”

The hunter humps into Peter’s hand a few more times, and then he’s shuddering as he comes in his pants.  Peter fucks him through it, then wraps his hand around Chris’ hips and fucks him hard until he, too, comes.  

When he finished, Peter wraps his arms around Chris and whispers to him, tells him what a good boy he is for Daddy.  Chris is still silent, but he nestles into Peter’s embrace.  Peter kisses the top of his head and holds him tight.


	34. Shackles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: shackles
> 
> Tags: Blood, Impaling, Rape/Non-Con Elements, Dark Chris Argent, Hand Jobs

“ _Shackles_?” Peter jerks his arms, pulling against the chains with all his considerable might. “Really, Christopher, if you wanted to try bondage – ”

He's cut off by a casual backhand across the mouth, and Peter licks the blood from his lip even as the wound heals.

Chris doesn't say a word to Peter as he reaches out and picks up a bent piece of rebar.

The wolf's eyes widen, just faintly, but Chris see it and grins darkly. “I see you recognize this.” He stalks around to the other side of the basement, dungeon, whatever you call this kind of place, and Peter can't see what he's doing until Chris turns around. With a giant needle.

“You escaped the fire. You escaped death. You escaped Eichen House. You won't escape this.” Chris grabs a handful of Peter's hair and jerks his head back, not even flinching as the beta features come out, as Peter's fangs gnash to get at his skin. He just depresses the plunger and then takes a step back and waits.

At first Peter doesn't feel any different, but the there's a weird foggy feeling and he all at once realizes that he's been disassociated from his wolf. “You found it,” he sighs as the fangs recede, cerulean eyes lifting to his former lover, current (and former) enemy.

“My association with the Calaveras has been rewarding. Their contacts allowed me to track down the last few strains of _Diripio Aconitum_ deep in the rainforest.” Chris inclines his head and studies the steel in his hands a long moment. “This may hurt.”

It takes him a lot longer than it did Peter originally, but eventually he pins Peter in place with the rebar just as he'd been pinned. Chris lifts his hand up and swipes his thumb along Peter's lower lip, smearing the blood trickling across it.

“I can't let you leave,” he whispers, mocking Peter's words from before, pressing close to Peter, risking the possibility that the wolf has enough strength to attack.

But Chris goes further than Peter had. The beta had other things on his mind at the time, but Chris has nowhere to be.

Instead, he steps forward and slots his thigh between Peter's parted legs, and just as he'd suspected, the wolf is half-hard. “Always did get off on danger, didn't you Peter?” he croons, hand cupping the lolling head and pressing a kiss to those bloodstained lips.

His free hand reaches down to tug down Peter's zip, then wrapping around the freed length, bringing it to full thickness easily.

“I bet you can come just like this for me, Peter, can't you?”

And he does, Chris' large calloused hands moving expertly to bring Peter off even through the pain. Maybe _because_ of the pain, it's all mixed up inside Peter, but when he does come, the shudder of his body just tears the hole the rebar's in further open, and more blood trickles from the wound to mix with the fluids that Chris is wiping off on Peter's v-neck.

“The wolfsbane should wear off in about six hours. Have a good night, Peter.”

Chris leans close and kisses the werewolf's forehead tenderly, and then leaves him there like that, all alone.


	35. Drunk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: under the influence

"Lightweights,” Peter snorts as he surveys the teenagers of the pack. One bottle of aconite-infused gin had put the weres under, regular booze had done for the humans of the pack. He considers the two bottles still left on the counter, unopened and decided he was fully entitled to one for himself.

Peter makes sure to lock up behind him, and reset the alarm that he'd disabled. Most of them he couldn't care less for, but Derek is in the middle of that pile, and Stiles is an undeveloped asset that may be useful one day.

Peter takes the bottle to his apartment, skulking through tunnels and subways where the creepy-crawlies within hid from him, knowing an apex predator when they saw one. This apex predator emerges from the sewers halfway home, only to take to the rooftops of downtown, using werewolf abilities like a superhero, leaping and flying through the air, roof to roof, landing light as a cat and never disturbing the slumbering humans beneath.

He takes a different route every time, sometimes half and hour out of his way. Peter had learned that painful lesson, had it seared into his flesh. Never let them find your den.

 _Talia's fatal arrogance_ , Peter thinks as he makes himself a gin and tonic, swirling it with a stick and then stepping to his balcony, the very portrait of normality, just another neighbor among many.

Peter's never been one deny himself anything, so he happily finished off the entire bottle, not even bothering to mix the gin by the end, just laying on his patio, staring at the stars and drinking straight from the bottle.

As he does when he drinks alone, Peter becomes maudlin, remembering the first time he'd done this. A stupid freshman with stars in his eyes, so thrilled about being out after dark with the older boy. How Chris had provided the liquor, cheap wine that time for them both, Peter's laced lightly with wolfsbane. How they had talked all night long, discovered just how very much they had in common, and made plans to run away together. How Chris had taken him for the first time, so careful and gentle, even though Peter demanded more, reminded Chris that he could heal from anything. How Chris has answered that he wanted it to be special.

It was everything Peter could have ever wanted. Chris had held him close afterward, whispered promises in his ear, spun wild stories about the places they'd go. And Peter, the stupid naive fool, had believed every word, had fallen asleep in Chris' arms, safe and loved.

Peter had woken up alone on the cold, hard ground of the preserve, Chris and his truck long gone. Twenty years later he comes back to Beacon Hills, acted like he hadn't been the one to rip Peter's heart out, to make him into the untrusting and suspicious person he is today.

Before he knows it, he's calling Chris, and Peter doesn't even know how he has the hunter's number.

“Yeah.”

“You ruined everything.”

“Peter? Are you...drunk?”

“Not drunk enough to forget you.”

Chris hangs up. Peter blinks at his phone and then whips it across the room, watching it shatter into pieces dully, then lays down in the center of his living room, on the soft plush carpet he'd indulged in, because comfort is the only vice he truly allows himself.

He must have passed out, because when he opens his eyes, the wolfsbane is mostly gone from his system, and Chris is settled on his couch, looking far too comfortable. And watching him with those piercing blue eyes.

“Argent,” he acknowledges, a brief frown skating across his features, glance darting to the pieces of plastic carefully laid out on his coffee table. “I called you,” he vaguely remembers, and Chris nods.

“You did.”

“Well, that will teach me not to swipe the pack's alcohol,” Peter says, levreing himself up from the floor. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe I'm in need of a shower – ”

“Peter,” Chris interrupts. “Come here.”

Peter's not sure why he moves to obey at the stern tone, perhaps some lingering effects of the aconite. Whatever it is, he finds himself on his knees in front of Chris, and he's not really certain what's about to happen, but some ideas are circulating through his mind that he's trying very hard to NOT think about.

Chris reaches out and cups Peter's cheek, and he flinches away but the older man in undeterred, running a thumb along the cheekbone softly.

“You said I ruined everything.”

“Yes well, one tends to get a bit dramatic when drunk, I can assure you – ”

“Peter.”

He falls silent and lifts his chin defiantly and looks up at Chris. “You left me.”

“I left you a note. Wrote you letters.”

Peter closes his eyes. “ _Talia_ ,” he breathes.

Chris purses his lips and narrows his eyes before it comes to him, and then he nods once, eyes sad. “Or my father.” He leans in and puts both hands on either side of Peter's face. “I meant every word that night, and I've never forgotten either.”

Peter's eyes open to look at Chris again, and he shakes his head minutely. “There's no going back, Christopher.”

“There's starting again,” he says softly and then leans in and brushes his lips along Peter's, surging forward after hearing the broken noise that Peter makes, desperately trying to kiss all the hurt away. And once they're both breathless from the kisses, Chris takes Peter into the shower, and then to bed.


	36. Cuddles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Petopher and cuddle pollen

Peter Hale doesn’t touch, doesn’t let himself be touched.  Every time someone gets close, his nostrils fill with smoke and he tastes ash on his tongue. Because as much as he might blame Kate for setting the fire - and Derek for letting her in - Peter was too distracted by her older brother to notice the trouble brewing.  In the end, Peter could have prevented what happened to his family.  So he denies himself the opportunity for family, for closeness, refuses the physical closeness that all wolves crave.

And so when the witch blows wolfsbane in the Pack’s face, Peter’s hit harder than the others.  It just reduces the other wolves to holding hands, Peter watches from his curled up spot at the base of a tree as Scott and Derek just twine their fingers and keep fighting. But Peter, it hits him like a kick to the gut, all the cravings for Pack, the physical desperation for his family.

So he stumbles away, because the way that Scott and Derek are acting only makes everything worse.  Proud Peter Hale crawls away from a fight, scrabbles in the dirt until he finds an empty den under a fallen tree, curls himself into the tiny space, and keens for his long-lost pack, shaking and rocking.

That’s how Chris finds him, and lord knows they’ve got a history - complicated doesn’t even begin to cover it - but he’s never been one to enjoy the pain of others, especially those he once loved.  So he crouches down and reaches out a hand, strokes it through Peter’s hair and shushes him like he would a small child or a feral animal.

Peter’s so lost in his misery that he doesn’t even really recognize Chris, but the wolf inside him, knows that scent, knows it’s not an enemy, if not quite Pack. Something inside Peter, something crushed and broken, sharp edges always cutting at his heart, something smooths out, and before he knows it, Peter is clutched tight in Chris’ arms, streams of tears running down his face as he finally grieves for everything he’s lost, lets out everything that’s been bottled inside.

Peter will feel embarrassed and likely furious once he recovers, but all he can think about is staying close to Chris, and even as the hunter coaxes Peter from his hiding spot, tugs the wolf towards his truck, Peter can’t stop holding onto Chris.  The hunter is forced to make room in his bed for Peter, because there’ not much that will keep a fully grown wolf that’s in desperate need of physical connection out of your bed, and he just doesn’t have the energy to ward everything with mountain ash.

When Peter finally wakes up, eyes clear and bright, freezing when he realizes,  _remembers_ , and turns to see Chris watching him, he is - for once - at a total loss. They stare at each other until Chris reaches out and tugs the wolf back into his side. 

"Shut up and go back to sleep," Chris grumbles before Peter can say anything, and to both of their surprise, that’s exactly what Peter does.


	37. All The World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: i’m the stage manager and you’re the self-absorbed diva, so naturally we despise each other
> 
> Tags: Hate-sex, Blow jobs

“HALE.”

Peter hides the smirk as he glances up innocently at Chris. “You bellowed?”

Chris stomps in from the wings. “You are not the most important person on this stage, hale, no matter what your over-inflated ego might think.”

Peter rolls his eyes, but not  _just_  an eye-roll, no, not Peter Hale.  He raises his arms and alters his stance so that his entire  _body_  seems to be screaming his derision at Chris.

“Of course I am,” Peter sneers, “And it’s obvious by your lack of recognition, that you are the absolute worst stage manager that’s  _ever_  existed.”

“Your swelled head wouldn’t be so bad if you could actually  _act_ ,” growls Chris, poking his finger in Peter’s chest, “but unfortunately, your skills are rather…lacking.”

“You’re jealous of my ability,” Peter returns hotly. “There’s a  _reason_  you’re behind the curtain rather than out here in the lights.”

“Now, listen you little – ” Chris is cut off by the loud clearing of a throat, and they turn in unison to see the director glaring at them both.

“Get off my stage,” John growls. “Both of you.” He turns to the gathered cast and crew who were avidly watching the scene between the two men. “Calling an early night. Go home.” His gaze returns to the duo still glaring at each other. “I suggest you spend this weekend getting your shit together, or both of you are going to be out on your asses.”

Peter stalks off to his dressing room, Chris cleans up the stage before heading out.  He hears noise in Peter’s dressing room and checks the time.  He can’t possibly still be here.

Chris opens the door to see Peter in nothing but a pair of boxers, drinking straight from a bottle of whiskey.

“What the hell are you doing, Hale?”

“Fuck off, Christopher,” is the only reply.

“Chris,” he says, gritting his teeth. “I’m locking up, you can’t be here.”

“Fine,” Peter sighs, dramatically, and starts walking toward the door. Chris stops him with a grasp around his surprisingly large bicep.

“Put on some clothes first, idiot.”

“Why?” Peter sneers. “Am I making you uncomfortable?” He saunters closer, and Chris takes an involuntary step back, heel hitting the wall.

“I bet you’d be really uncomfortable if I did this,” Peter breathes, and then kisses Chris firmly. Chris freezes, and then pushes Peter away.

“You’re drunk,” he says flatly.

“And  _you’re_  hard,” Peter replies, hand caressing the obvious bulge pressing against Chris’ zipper.

Chris crosses his arms. “Not for you, Hale,” he lies with a sneer.

To his surprise, Peter drops to his knees and tugs down Chris’ zip.  In just a handful of seconds, he’s slid Chris’ cock all the way into his throat, and he’s working at it like a fucking pro.

Chris comes down Peter’s throat in far too quick a time, and Peter pulls away, licking his lips like that cat that got the cream.

“You quit your bullshit on stage, and I’ll let you fuck me on Opening Night,” Peter says as he tugs his clothes on, and then sweeps out of the room, leaving a confused Chris behind all alone.


	38. Teasing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: BB!Petopher almost getting caught at school bc Peter doesn't want to keep his hands to himself today

Chris knows it the second Peter catches his scent. Can see the faint brightening of his eyes, because he’s looking for it, hides the smirk as Peter brushes off whatever girl he’s talking to, to make a beeline for Chris at his locker. Peter buries his nose in the back of Chris’ neck and inhales deeply, and his voice is a low growl as he breathes into Chris’ ear. “You left it. Christopher…”

Whatever he was going to say is interrupted by a teacher yelling down the hallway. “No roughhousing at the lockers!”

Peter grudgingly slides his arm away from where it was wrapped around Chris’ neck, the other from where it had been digging pinprick claws into Chris’ hip.

“I can’t believe you,” he hisses as the first bell rings.

Chris turns wide, innocent blue eyes on the wolf. “What?” he says with a straight face, hiding the grin until Peter’s been forced to run for his first hour.

He and Peter had been together intimately for the first time last night, and though Chris had rinsed off so he wasn’t all sticky, he’d made no effort to rid himself of Peter’s scent. Chris finds himself entertained by Peter’s reaction, and wonders how far he can push the wolf’s control. He makes an excuse to get out of class, and takes a roundabout way so that he can walk past Peter’s class.  Chris gets five steps away before Peters hurrying out of the classroom and pinning him up against the wall, cock hard in his jeans as he grinds against Chris’ thigh. And the way he murmurs, “ _Christopher_ ,” has the hunter half-hard himself , and he looks up into blue eyes swirling with golden, lifting his hand up to press his thumb into the base of Peter’s neck. Peter’s teeth lengthen as he struggles to control the predator within, and neither of them notice the principal until it’s too late, and Peter is being dragged back by the back of his shirt.

“Keep the fighting outside of school, boys,” he orders. “Get back to class. Now!”

-

Chris takes his lunch outside, manages two bites of chips before Peter’s literally dragging him off into the woods behind the school, pushing Chris up against a tree, kissing the hunter hot and heavy as he forcefully unzips the other boy’s pants and slides his hand inside.

“I want your mouth, Peter,” Chris demands as soon as they come up for air, and the normally proud wolf drops right to his knees for Chris, tugs the canvas fabric aside and swallows down Chris’ cock without a second’s hesitation. Chris slides his fingers into Peter’s hair and grips tightly, uses that as handholds to roughly fuck the wolf’s mouth, gasping while he murmurs low, “I’m gonna come on your face, Peter, gonna mark you with my scent.” And he does, pulling out at the last moment and painting the wolf’s face with stripes of white.

He slides his leg between Peter’s kneeling thighs and finds his grip in the dark locks once more. “I want you to come just like this, covered in my scent, humping my leg like a pup.” Peter’s wordless as he complies, desperately rutting against Chris’ leg as the hunter keeps an eye on the time. “One minute left, Peter,” he says low, watching the other boy’s face intently.  Peter makes it just in time, fangs biting through his lip as he shudders his completion.

Chris steps back as Peter takes a few heaving breaths, and then tosses the wolf the gym shirt he’d pulled out of his locker on the way to lunch to wipe himself off.  He zips up and wanders out, walks up to the woman monitoring the lunch. “Peter Hale out smoking in the woods,” he tells her before heading into the building, chuckling to himself as he finds his way to fifth hour.


	39. Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What would you say with your dying breath?

Chris’ phone rings, and two sets of impossibly blue eyes turn towards the bureau.

“Well, that can’t be good,” Isaac opines, leaning back in his seat. “That phone hasn’t gone off in months.”

“It’s…Peter?…” Chris says as he lifts the phone to look at the caller ID.

“Really not good,” Isaac mutters as Chris flips the phone open.

“Peter,” he says evenly as Isaac slips from the room. Chris can hear him dragging the gun cases out.

“Hello, Christopher,” comes that smug, arrogant tone, “How’s France?”

“Calm,” Chris returns. “Peter, why are you calling me?”

“Can’t I catch up with an old friend?”

Chris realizes he’s pacing and halts. “We’re not friends, Peter.”

“Aw, Christopher, that  _hurts_ me that you’d say that.”

“Peter -”

“We were friends once. More than. Quite a bit more.”

Chris freezes. They’ve never talked about it.

“Peter…”

“Remember that night, Christopher?”

Chris remembers. Remembers sneaking out, meeting in the woods, frenzied lovemaking, hurried promises whispered in the moonlight.

“ _Remember_ that night, Christopher.”

“Peter, I -” Chris doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say. “Peter, why are you bringing this up?”

There’s nothing but silence on the line.

“Peter? Peter?!”

Chris pulls the phone away and looks at it.  It’s still connected.

“Peter!”

 _Silence_.


	40. What if

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What if the fire had been a few years earlier?

“Another round,” Chris tells the waitress with a wink, before he leans back in his seat casually.  “And one for my friend.” 

He’s on his own for a while, Gerard took Kate to the woods for some training, so he’s at the local Hunter hangout, catching up on the gossip.

“You ain’t all bad, Argent,” the guy says, then takes a deep swig.  “That was some good work your old man did Saturday, taking out that entire clan of monsters out Cali way.”

Chris’ blood runs cold and his spine turns to ice. “Oh?” he says way too casually.  Dude doesn’t notice, just keeps drinking.  Chris wants to gut him.

“Yeah, trapped twenty or thirty of ‘em in the house with wolfsbane and burned those fuckers.  Here’s to your dad, man’s one hell of a hunter.”

Chris drinks to his father and it tastes like ash.

-

He’s in Beacon Hills by the next morning, staring at the still smoking wreckage.

“Any survivors?” he manages to ask with a detached air.

“Just two, Agent Jackson,” the deputy tells him. “Teenager and little boy, though the older kid is in a coma.”

-

It’s far too easy to become Derek and Peter’s legal guardians, to move the three of them out of Beacon Hills and far away to the wilds of Northern Michigan.  

Chris tends to Peter himself, holds the wolf’s body at night and talks to him.

It’s three months of isolation when Peter opens those blue, blue eyes and looks over to see Chris asleep in the chair.

“Christopher?!” he says in far too loud a voice, staring at the man as Derek comes running in from the other room.

“Uncle Peter, you’re awake!” the little boy says. “This is Uncle Chris.  He says we’re going to be a family, just the three of us. And he always knew you were going to wake up, didn’t you?”

Chris ruffles the kid’s hair with a smile.

“Uncle. Chris.” Peter repeats as his eyes narrow, but he subsides until after Derek snoring on the sofabed in the cabin’s small front room.

Peter and Chris sit on the steps of the front porch. Chris tells him what happened, knowing that Peter might choose to take Derek and run.

“I’m going to kill them, Christopher,” he says after a long, long silence.

“I know,” the hunter responds, staring into the darkness of the woods. But I think you got bigger priorities.”

Peter arches a brow.

“Your eyes are still blue, Peter,” Chris points out. “Derek’s are gold.”

Peter turns slowly to meet Chris’s gaze, brows arched. “Somebody else survived the fire.“


	41. There’s never a happily ever after

For all of five seconds, Peter Hale is at peace. He’s in a warm, comfortable bed, curled in the arms of someone strong.

And that’s when it all goes to shit.  

Because those arms tense, and Peter catches the scent of leather and gun oil, and the knowledge hits him just as the other man scrambles backward out of the bed.

“What,” the familiar voice snarls, “did you do to me, Hale?”

Peter has two choices here, and about five seconds to make it in. He could confess to his ignorance of the situation, of having any clue what the fuck is going on.  But he doesn’t.  It’s not really his style.

So the wolf leisurely stretches, as he turns, tucks his hands behind his head, and smirks.

“Nothing you didn’t ask for.”

Peter’s nose tells him that’s not exactly what happened, but again, he’s not the type to volunteer information.  He interlaces his fingers and lets his gaze ogle Chris Argent as he rises with all the gravitas he can muster, but Peter is distracted by the clink of something against the headboard.  He pulls his hand out from behind him, as Chris tugs on a pair of jeans and then swears aloud.

“I’m afraid it’s worse than you think,” Peter says, lifting his hand to show the wedding band, lips twitching in amusement as Argent slowly lifts his hand to see the matching ring on his finger. He blinks twice, then swiftly pulls his gun from where it sits on the bedside table and shoots Peter.

“Son of a – ” Peter hisses in pain and cups his hand over the wound as it heals. “That’s hardly the way to treat your groom, Christopher.”

Argent cocks the gun again, but his phone rings.  He answers it, but keeps the weapon trained on Peter.

“Sheriff,” he answers coolly, listens for a moment, then glances at the pad of paper on the nightstand. “Yeah, I’m here too.”  Argent stalks to the door and flings it open to look at the room number. “407.”

“Mr. Argent?” comes a voice from down the hallway, and Chris turns that way as he hangs up the phone. It turns out to be Isaac, followed by a subdued Jackson Whittemore.

Chris frowns. “Aren’t you supposed to be in France?” He turns to look at Jackson. “And London?”

“Yup,” says Isaac, popping the ‘p’ as he wanders in and plops himself down on a chair in Chris room. Jackson just shrugs.

The Sheriff follows Melissa into Chris’ room, arching a brow at Peter who’s still lounging naked in bed. Peter grins unrepentantly as the room fills up with the rest of the pack, trickling in by twos.

“Alright, we need to figure out what happened here,” Chris says, but is interrupted by Peter before he can continue.

“Stiles and Lydia.”

Chris slowly turns to look at him. “What?”

“Stiles and Lydia are missing.” Peter tilts his head. “I’m guessing this is a direct result of something they’ve done.”

The Sheriff and Chris exchange glances and the older man pulls out his cell and calls his son.

-

“Alright, so, we’ve undone the spell – ”  Lydia starts.

“And honestly we had no idea it make everyone get Vegas married,” Stiles puts in.

“– and nearly everyone has had heir marriage annulled.”

“Nearly everyone?” Peter queries.

“Yeah, so, Dad and Melissa decided to stay married, no surprise there,” Stiles explains, “the problem is you two.  Well and Jackson and Isaac.”

“We can’t break the bonds,” Lydia purses her lips and narrows her eyes at Peter. “The other couple’s bonds were thin, only just beginning.”

“Jackson and Isaac have a very strong bond, strong enough that Deaton says it would cause them damage to separate.” Stiles crosses his arms and leans against the wall, glaring at Chris as if he’s the one who’s affronted at the situation. “It could be done though.  On the other hand, you two…” Stiles waves his hand in the air in exasperation.

“Us two, what?” Chris grinds out.

“You’re seamless,” Lydia sighs. “There’s absolutely no separation.  It’s like you’ve been bonded for decades.”  
Chris turns on his heel and stares down at Peter, who lifts his chin defiantly. “How long, Hale?”

Peter affects a nonchalance he doesn’t feel. “Since that night.”

Lydia and Stiles look at each other and then back at Chris as he grabs his jacket.  “I need a drink,” the hunter mutters and then stalks out the door.

“Maybe try some couples counseling,” Stiles suggests, then scoots out the door at the murderous look Peter gives him. Lydia just smirks as she follows.

Peter closes his eyes as the door closes, and sinks into memory.

-

_The full moon shines down on two young men in a forest clearing dominated by a massive ancient tree. The younger one is whispering in Latin as they face each other, hands held tightly in each others.  When he’s done, the second boy whispers, this time in an ancient form of french._

“ _There,” he murmurs when he’s done, “now we can never be separated, Peter.”_

“ _We’re going to live happily ever after, Christopher,” he returns before pulling the other close for a soft kiss. “Our own fairy tale ending.”_

_With a soft smile, Chris pulls Peter into the tent and lays him down on the bedroll. He takes his time making love to Peter, knowing it’s the other boy’s first time, and for those brief, beautiful few hours, they had everything._

-

When Chris gets back, Peter is gone. The room is empty of all Peter’s things, except the wedding ring sparkling on the bedside table.


	42. High School

I was just thinking about how when we flashback, we see post-HS Peter and he’s tall and thin, right? 

But think about  _freshman_ Peter who hasn’t hit his growth spurt yet, who’s still short (and maybe with a hint of that cute baby fat lingering in his cheeks).

Now, think about rangy, tall, senior Chris taking an interest in Peter, about him looming over the smaller boy, and at first it’s just because Peter’s kinda sensitive. Buuuut…turns out, he’s clever and he makes Chris laugh a couple times unexpectedly, and the bullying somehow turns into to protectiveness along the way.

And then something  _else._  

Where Chris drags Peter into the locker room, and Peter thinks he’s going to end up stuffed in a locker, but instead, he’s spread out on the bench, and Chris’ mouth is doing things to him that he  _never_ imagined. 

Just  _think_ about that smaller boy splayed across Chris’ lap, as Chris slides slowly into him, blue eyes so focused on Peter’s reactions, making sure it’s good for him. About Chris’ mouth kissing promises into the other boy’s skin about how they’re going to be together always.

-

And then the next day, Chris finds out that they're leaving town, and he wants that memory to be the last one Peter has of him. So he doesn't say goodbye, he just vanishes, never planning on coming back.

Until one day he does, but now he's got a family in tow, and he thinks Peter's dead.

But of course he's not.


	43. Eggs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://www.vice.com/read/the-emerging-fetish-of-laying-alien-eggs-inside-yourself
> 
> Tags: Oviposition, DIrty Talk

“How do you feel?”

Chris’ voice is hoarse as he shifts the toy inside of Peter, free hand rubbing Peter’s swollen belly.

“Full,” comes Peter’s sarcastic reply, spoiled only by the tremor in his voice that belies the mix of sensations running through him.  

“You’ve got two more, pup,” Chris murmurs as his hand slides lower to curl around Peter’s cock - which has been hard this entire time. “Two more.”

He slides the egg into the device  and pushes it further in, moving his hand up to pluck and twist one of Peter’s nipples while the egg joins the others. 

“Last one,” Chris murmurs and then finishes his task, before sliding the dildo-like tube free from Peter. “You took all of them,” he says, praising the younger man.

Carefully now, he shifts on the bed, curling his hands around Peter’s hips and puling the other man backward.  They both groan when Chris slides into Peter, into that slippy cavity filled with the soft eggs.

Chris pulls Peter up and back, moves them until Peter is sitting on his lap, so that he can rub his hand over that full belly. “You look amazing like this,” Chris says roughly, rocking his hips ever so slightly. 

Peter lays his head back on Chris’ shoulder, not even able to respond right now, as Chris takes his free hand and slowly starts sliding it along Peter’s cock, bringing him to the edge only to stop and wait for the inevitable whine.

“You know better than that,” Chris chuckles, and holds his hand steady. He makes Peter fuck up into it, which pulls him slightly off Chris, so that when he pushes back, Peter’s fucking himself on the older man.

Chris makes Peter work for it, keeps rubbing that belly as Peter strains, murmurs softly in Peter’s ear while he strives toward orgasm.

“Imagine me taking you out in public like this Peter, stomach swollen like you’re pregnant.  Maybe we could put those tits of your in a push up bra, with a pretty dress over it.” He pauses a minute to take a deep breath as Peter clenches around him. “Dress you up all pretty,” he continues, “and then I’d make you sit in my lap in the park. Right out there in the open, and I’d slide that skirt up and push right into you, make you fuck yourself on me where anyone could see what a slut you are.”

Peter is close to his edge now, and Chris shift the younger man once again, pulls out of him and then starts jacking him faster. “Now, Peter,” he commands, and Peter bears down, pushing the eggs from his body as Chris brings him off with an earth-shattering orgasm.  He spills hotly over Chris’ hand as the gelatin slides from him, crying out as he comes while the eggs slide free.

“That’s my good boy,” Chris croons as a shaky Peter collapses onto the bed on his side, and he strokes a hand through peter’s hair as he climbs back onto the bed, lifting Peter’s leg and pushing slowly into the prone man, moaning aloud at the feeling.  

Chris uses Peter’s body now, fucking into that slippery hole hard as Peter lies there, exhausted.  It’s not long before he’s filling the now-empty Peter with his come, shuddering through his aftershocks as Peter drifts in and out of a haze.

When he’s done, Chris moves off the bed, walks around to where Peter’s face is, and makes the younger man lick him clean, before he heads into the shower, and lets peter rest before they do it all again.


	44. Ribbons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Petopher. Purple.
> 
> Tags: Bondage, Orgasm Delay, Xenophilia, Sex Toys, D/s, BDSM

“Purple looks good on you,” Chris murmurs as he traces a finger along the satin ribbon across Peter’s chest.

“Lilac,” Peter corrects somewhat breathlessly, fighting himself to keep still.

Chris hums noncommittally as he steps back and surveys his handiwork.  Peter is trussed up in the flimsiest bondage, just that thin purple ribbon wrapped around him.  If he moves injudiciously, his werewolf strength will snap the ribbon. 

Chris reaches out and tugs the lilac gem that serves as a weight on the clamp attached to Peter’s nipple. “Be still, Peter,” he reminds the wolf as Peter’s eyes take on a distinctive shine that mean his wolf is getting close to the surface.

He continues testing the younger man’s self control, tugging both clamps, then sliding the satin of the ribbon along Peter’s cock, still jutting out and hard as it had been for the last half hour.

Peter trembles a few times but manages to stay in place as Chris uses the last length of lilac ribbon to tie a tight bow around the base of his dick.

“Pretty as a picture,” he croons as he watches Peter take shallow breaths, too deep and he’d burst the constraints around his torso.

Chris crouches down and pushes Peter’s thighs apart, leans him forward just slightly, and parts the soft globes of his ass.

“Remember,” he whispers, “Don’t move.” 

Chris slides the head of a slicked up toy along the furled muscle of Peter’s entrance, clicking the vibration on with his thumb. He feels Peter twitch, but still as he starts pushing the buzzing length in just a tiny bit and then lets it slip out.  

He teases Peter in this way until there’s a faint sheen of sweat on the wolf’s skin as he fights his reactions, and then shoves the dildo inside, presses it right up against the tiny kernel deep inside him that made Peter want to come even more intensely.

Chris keeps Peter teetering on the edge until he sees the eyes shining bright blue, the canines and claws lengthening and he knows Peter’s just barely hanging on. And then he pulls the toy fully away, throws it behind him somewhere, and yanks his jeans down, freeing his aching cock with a sigh of relief.

One quick movement to lube himself up, and Chris is kneeling behind Peter, pushing into that velvety tunnel, gasping as he seats himself fully inside his wolf, and then fucks into Peter hard. 

All too soon, he’s at that edge himself, and Chris reaches around and tugs the tied bow free as he makes those last few harsh thrusts and fills Peter with his come.  

That’s all the Peter needs, streams of white spurting into the air as he comes untouched, with Chris buried deep inside him.

“Good boy, Peter,” Chris praises, hands soothing down the werewolf’s side, purple ribbons still intact. “You did very well.”

Peter doesn’t move until Chris has unwound every last bit of lilac from him, and given him permission. Then he shakingly curls onto the large cushion that Chris has settled before him, while the older man tucks a blanket around him, and runs a soothing hand through his hair, murmuring soft praises until Peter drifts into a light doze.


	45. Jealous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “Wait a minute. Are you jealous?” - Petopher

“ _No_ ,” a fourteen-year old Peter says viciously with hurt shining in blue eyes that haven’t learned to conceal his true feelings. “I don’t care who you date.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Peter Hale,” Chris says with a sneer, the boy who’d learned to lie before he could shoot. “You want to be my date.”

“I do not,” he yells and shoves Chris using his forbidden werewolf strength.

Chris takes Natalie Campbell to the Prom. Peter stays home.

-

“Are you jealous, Christopher?” a twenty-something Peter sneers as the hunter finds him in bed with his little sister, Katie.

“How dare you seduce my sister to get back at me?” he hisses in the wolf’s face.

Peter aches a brow, blue eyes that still can’t hide his feelings showing his glee that Chris still wants him. “What makes you think _I_ was the one doing the seducing?”

“She’s _seventeen_ , Peter,” he growls.

“So were you,” Peter laughs, right until Chris puts a bullet in his heart.

-

“Are you jealous, Peter?” The question is soft, slightly tinny as it comes across the phone line.

“No, Christopher, I just want you to be happy.” Peter has learned to lie well now. “If this Victoria makes you happy, then I wish you all the best.”

He has no claim on the boy he once - _forever_ \- loved. And he’s got that one last gift for the man he’ll never see again, let him go into his new marriage with no regrets from the past.

-

“Jealous, Christopher?” Peter grunts out as he curls his hands into the bedding of the shit motel Chris had dragged him to after finding him in the middle of a bar, making out with a scruffy-looking guy with crystal-blue eyes.

“Shut the fuck up, Peter,” Chris says as he pounds into the werewolf beneath him.

Chris leaves as soon as he’s done.  Peter stays until check-out, wrapping himself up in Chris’ scent for as long as he can.

-

“Are you jealous, Peter?” Chris sneers as he confronts his old lover-turned-enemy in the sewers. “You’ve lost everything to Scott McCall.”

“I’m not jealous of a damned thing,” Peter lies expertly  as he grabs a length of rebar and steps towards Chris. “I’m about to have everything I ever wanted.”

-

"You look jealous, Christopher Argent,” Dr. Valack says as he strokes the top of Peter’s head, the wolf kneeling at his side. “He belongs to me now.  He’ll never love you again.”

Chris goes home and throws up thinking about those glassy, faraway eyes.

-

“Jealous, Peter?” Chris says gently as he deliberately makes noise as he walks up behind where the wolf is sitting on the porch of their lonely cabin - deep in the forests of Michigan - watching Derek split wood effortlessly. 

Peter startles easily still, even months after Chris had sprung him from the supernatural prison Scott had sent him to. He’s never quite recovered his werewolf strength.

Peter’s answer is a snort, but it’s enough of a glimmer of the old Peter that Chris takes it for a good sign. Chris gingerly and slowly slides an arm around Peter’s shoulders. He doesn’t much like to be touched, but he allows this, even leans into Chris ever so slightly.

Chris thinks maybe they’re going to be okay.


End file.
